#Someone give me a yellow cloak already they look so cool

[mizzarh]

Lucius and Ivy gathering berries by the edge of the village

*Please click for HQ*

[braveclementine]

Chapter 7

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (However they are very few so those under the age of 18 can still read a majority of this book. However please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

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𝕴 𝖉𝖎𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝖌𝖔 back to sleep that night, though I tossed and turned and dozed a bit before I jerked awake and continued to toss and turn.

After a few hours, Mr. Weasley woke us up and told us to take our stuff outside after it was packed. I got dressed back in my shorts and blouse (yellow this time) and put all my stuff in my bag and trooped outside. Mr. Weasley packed up the tents using magic and we marched behind him to get to the portkeys.

We passed Mr. Roberts who was standing on his front porch and said, "Merry Christmas" as we passed by. Trang gave him a sad look.

"Are you alright?" Trang whispered in my ear as Mr. Weasley told everyone else that Mr. Roberts was going to be okay.

"Oh, um, yeah, I just want to make sure dad knows we're okay." I said, biting my bottom lip. "The riot probably already reached the newspapers and he'll be worried."

We took a rubber tire (much bigger thankfully) back to the hill and we walked as fast as we could back to the Burrow. Percy and I walked as far apart from each other as we could. Fred and Charlie still seemed to be fuming from last night and, unless my eyes were deceiving me, there was a nice fresh bruise on Percy's right cheek. But it could've been a trick of light.

No one talked much. We were hungry and exhausted. We rounded a corner and the Burrow came into view. Then Mrs. Weasley was running out of the house and saying "Oh thank goodness, thank goodness." She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley. I ducked into the house, leaving the rest of them outside. I went upstairs and put my bag away. Trang had followed quickly and said, "What are you going to do? You look so upset?"

"Just tired." I lied, thinking about last night. "I'm going to take the floo network home. . . just for a couple of hours. Unless dad's not home and I'll just come right back. I just need to talk to him, okay?" I smiled at her and kissed her cheek. Sometimes I wondered if I was French. "Get some sleep tiger." Sometimes I wondered if I treated her more like a friend or a daughter.

I headed back down the stairs, this time Trang didn't follow me. The Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry were all sitting in the kitchen and Fred looked up as I came in.

I headed over to where the fireplace was and took a little floo powder. "Elizabeth?" Fred asked, standing up from the table.

The entire family looked over.

"I just want to check on dad." I said. "That's all."

"Are you sure?" Fred asked.

I hesitated and said, "It's probably best if I remove myself from the area for a couple of hours, it'll give some people time to cool down."

I stepped in the fireplace and threw down the floo powder and said dad's house and disappeared, falling out of the fireplace and into someone's arms. I looked up. Dad had been standing in front of the fireplace when I'd come out. One arm was wrapped around my waist to prevent me from falling, the other was away from me so floo powder didn't fall onto the bricks.

"Oh." I said. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Er- I was coming to the burrow to see if. . ." Dad cleared his throat and put the floo powder back into the canister and took off his traveling cloak. He tossed it on a chair and wrapped his arms around me tightly. "I'm glad you're safe."

"I figured you'd be worried. Trang's okay too if you feel like dropping subtle hints to her parents." I said, burrowing my face into his chest. It was always so funny. . . bad things happened and then Dad was there to make everything okay. He was my safe rock.

Something in my voice made him pull back and take a good look at me and then he led me over to the couch and said, "Spill."

I rested my head on his shoulder and looked down at my hands while I spoke. I didn't cry though, like I might've done a different year. But I'd sworn to myself at the end of last year that dad would not see me cry again. I had to pause a couple times when me throat closed up and tears threatened to spill over, and then start up again once my throat cleared. I didn't mention the walk afterwards or what I said to Mr. Crouch.

Dad was patient and when he was done he said, "You know, I never really like Percy."

I laughed and then I couldn't stop laughing and I laughed so hard, tears spill out of my eyes but it was from laughing so it didn't count as crying. I wiped the tears away and grinned. "Really? Was he a bad student?"

"Bit arrogant, yeah." Dad said, grinning down at me. "Smart, but arrogant. But you and Hermione are smart, and simply smart."

I laughed again, this one just a short one.

"But in all seriousness." Dad said, "Trang's right. You have a life to live. You aren't supposed to be watching out for every single thing in life. You can live outside of the known. That's what everyone does, even you. Sometimes there's a situation that we don't know what's going to happen and then, it works out or it doesn't and we work with what we got. Seers, perhaps, have a bit of an upperhand, sure, but I'm sure you never look into your visions to see what you're going to make for dinner the next night, do you?"

I shook my head. Dad was right. Dad continued, "And every person there at the Quidditch cup last night didn't know what was going to happen and no one was killed, so there shouldn't be a problem."

"I just don't understand why I didn't see it." I said, a bit frustrated. I wanted to explain this properly. "Obviously, I've never really understood how they work. I've taken divination and it seems to be helping. But if I saw the entire Quidditch cup, play by play, why didn't I see even a segment of the riot afterwards?"

Of course, I didn't really expect dad to have an answer though he said slowly, "Well, perhaps there's a certain length you can see? Perhaps if you'd only seen segments of the Quidditch cup instead of the play by plays, perhaps you would've seen segments of the riots. I don't know how your visions work anymore than you do so it's only a guess." He shrugged his shoulders.

That could be true, I pondered. I'd never really had a long vision before, but then again, I'd wanted to see the outcome and I didn't want to skip to the end. . .

"By the way." Dad said suddenly. "I don't like Fred either. He's a bit of a troublemaker, I think you should stay away from him."

I giggled and gave dad a patronizing look. "Really now?"

"Yes." Dad said so solemnly that we both laughed. "No." He said with a grin, "I told you last year I have no problems with Fred. I don't really have problems with Percy either, I just think perhaps he views the world a bit like. . . Fudge perhaps. . . a tool to be used and not a person. . . and I think Voldemort thinks like that too."

I shuddered. Dad rubbed my shoulder in a comforting manner. "He's not going to touch you, I promise."

I nodded, "I know. It just seems so real."

Dad kissed my forehead. "Do you want breakfast? I'm sure you haven't eaten anything."

"Ah, dad, you don't have to cook for me." I said.

"Nonsense." Dad said, getting up from the couch and moving into the kitchen. "magic does wonders in the kitchen."

I giggled and watched him make a mess while trying to make pancakes. "You're not very good at this dad." I said, jokingly.

Dad shot flour at me with the wand and I screeched, ducking out of the way.

"Dad!" I complained, flour settling down on my shorts. I grabbed a handful of flour off the counter and tossed it at him so it landed in his hair. A full out flour battle began in the kitchen which dad upped when he tossed an egg at me.

I was eight all over again.

I was safe.

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𝕴 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖉𝖆𝖉 on the cheek and went back to the Burrow sometime after lunch. The kitchen was empty and I saw through the window that the others were out playing Quidditch. I went back upstairs to my room and grabbed my broom and headed on out, being quiet so not to wake Hermione who was taking a nap.

Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, Harry, Trang where on uneven teams of 3 v 4. "Got room for one more?" I called up.

"Yeah." Bill called. "You're on my team."

I flew up to join them.

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𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 of the next couple weeks, we didn't see much of Percy or Mr. Weasley as they were both in the Ministry as much as possible. On Wednesday morning before Mr. Weasley left for work, he was to take Trang to the airport. She had her bags packed and slung over her shoulders.

Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Mrs. Weasley and I got up early to say good-bye to her. We all hugged her bye- even Harry- and when I got to her I whispered, "I'll tell you all about what's going to happen at Hogwarts this year, okay? Have a great school year."

"Thank you so much for inviting me." Trang said, with shining eyes to Mrs. Weasley. I think Trang might've been tearing up under her glasses.

"It was my pleasure dear." Mrs. Weasley said, giving her another hug. "I'll make sure you get your present for Christmas." Trang and I beamed.

"Well, come on then Trang." Mr. Weasley said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Ginny and I gave each other a knowing smile. Mr. Weasley couldn't wait to see the Muggle planes and see how muggles flew without brooms.

Trang and I hugged one last time and then she grabbed Mr. Weasley's arm. He turned on his heel, pulling her into nothingness with a loud crack.

That night at dinner, Mr. Weasley enlightened us on Muggle planes, ". . . Can fit up to 150 people! Isn't that amazing Molly? A broom can't do that! It's ingenious! And Trang said they'll serve you drink and food on the planes if you ask. . . and you can sleep on them without worrying about falling off. . . and they fly at high altitudes so you're above the clouds. . ."

I had a hard time keeping a straight face. It was hilarious the way wizards reacted to Muggle appliances. Like cars or escalators or malls or- like dad- he'd been horrified at amusement parks. He couldn't understand how they could be safe with just a belt or bar. It had taken a lot of coaxing to convince him to ride a roller coaster with me. He hadn't gone on one since.

On Sunday evening, we were downstairs doing things when Percy came home. Bill and Ron were playing chess. Ginny was mending her spellbooks with spellotape. Fred and George were sitting in a corner, muttering to each other. Harry was working on his Firebolt with his broom kit. Hermione was reading a book. Charlie was working on a fireproof balaclava. I was writing a short story called The Vial of Blood and the Jar of Ashes. It wasn't coming along well and I was getting frustrated easily, tossing the drafts into the fireplace.

"It's been an absolute uproar. I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders." Percy complained.

"Why are they sending Howlers?" Ginny asked, working on her One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi at the moment.

"Complaining about security at the World Cup. They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks."

I laughed on the inside. Oh Mundungus. Dad had talked about him before. He didn't know him well, but he was supposed to be a trader on the black market and he got away with it.

"Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who. They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon." Mrs. Weasley said looking up at the clock of the family. His hand was pointing to work.

"Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" Percy asked and if I hadn't known Percy well by this point my mouth would've dropped open. "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first-"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!" Mrs. Weasley said angrily.

"If Dad hadn't said anything," Bill said from across the room, "old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented. Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts Cham Breakers once, and called me 'a long-haired pillock'?"

I giggled and Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, it is a bit long, dear. If you'd just let me-"

"No, mum."

Mrs. Weasley turned her attention on Fred and George in the corner. "What are you two up to?"

"Homework." Fred said vaguely, barely looking up.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday." Mrs. Weasley said amused.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late." George said.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you? You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?" Mrs. Weasley said shrewdly.

"Now mum, If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?" Fred said, looking up and looking pained.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Percy.

"Oh your father's coming!" Mrs. Weasley said, "Coming Arthur!" She called and she bustled out of the room. A moment later, Mr. Weasley came into the living room, carrying a dinner tray and sat down in the armchair. I blotted my short story in frustration and threw it in the fire.

"Well the fat's really in the fire now. Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago." Mr. Weasley said in a tired way.

I knew Harry had looked up to look at me, but I didn't look at him. I pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and tried again. It was supposed to be a story with morals and it wasn't working out that way. I liked the title though: The Vial of Blood and the Jar of ashes. Sounded menacing and yet, it was supposed to be a moral story- how different people dealt with depression: those that succumbed to it, and those who worked through it.

"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks." Percy said, incorporating his favorite person into it.

"Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky. There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark." Mr. Weasley said in a dark voice and I realized he was right along with Hermione about Winky.

"I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" Percy said hotly, shooting daggers at Mr. Weasley, probably because he didn't want any criticism about Mr. Crouch.

"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!" Hermione said angrily.

"They don't care about elves either." I said, wondering why Crouch hadn't said anything about what I'd said to him in the woods. Maybe he didn't want to believe me. Maybe he couldn't say anything. Maybe he thought I was sprouting nonsense. "It would just make Crouch look bad for a moment." I said, pondering my next sentence for the short story and wondering what the names of my characters should be.

"Now look here, Hermione! A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants-"

"He's hiding something." I interrupted, looking out the window. "I can feel it."

"Mr. Crouch isn't hiding a thing!" Percy said defensively. "Unless you can see it with your vision magic-"

"Lay off Perce!" Fred interrupted angrily "Just cause you're je-"

"His slave!" Hermione said hotly. "He didn't pay Winky, did he?"

"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly! Come on now, all of you. . ." Mrs. Weasley said quickly.

Ron sighed, packing up the chess set. Harry quickly put his broom kit back together and put his broom over his shoulder. Ginny picked up her school books and Fred and George were already gone. Percy went into the kitchen and Charlie and Bill made their way out of the room too.

"Mr. Weasley." I said as most of the others went upstairs. "Mr. Diggory is going to call- by fireplace- on you tomorrow. I don't know about what exactly. Something to do with Mad- eye Moody."

"Thank you Elizabeth." Mr. Weasley said, looking like he might fall asleep in his chair. I wondered if he'd even heard what I'd said, but I dashed up the stairs nevertheless. Tomorrow, we would be going back to Hogwarts. Tomorrow night, I would see my favorite Professor. Tomorrow, I would be away from Percy. Tomorrow, I would be at my second home.

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊��𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌, I woke up early. Heavy rain was pouring down the windows and I saw flashes of lightning. I got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt for the Beatles. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and because my left eye had steadily gotten worse over the last three years from not wearing my glasses like I was supposed to- I put my glasses on.

I had packed my trunk last night and I lugged it down the stairs and put it down near the door.

I went into the living room and saw Mr. Diggory's head pop into the fire.

Mrs. Weasley was in the room with me, probably waiting for the call that I had said was going to happen. She rushed past me and said, "Arthur! Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!"

I pulled a quill out of my pocket and handed it to Mr. Weasley as he came by. He thanked me quickly and I listened in to the conversation. Harry, Ron, Fred, and George came into the room as well.

Mr. Diggory started to talk very fast. "Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what- d'you-call-'ems- please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there- it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it. I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls and I found the Improper Use of magic lot all setting off- if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur-" Mr. Diggory said urgently.

"What does Mad-eye say happen?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Mr. Diggory rolled his eyes. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins."

"What did the dustbins do?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell. Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up-"

Mr. Weasley groaned and asked, "What about the intruder?"

"Arthur, you know Mad-eye. Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? Most likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it- think of his record- we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department- what are exploding dustbins worth?"

"Might be a caution." Mr. Weasley answered, scribbling as fast as his hand would let him. "Mad-eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"

"I'll be he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window, but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties." Mr. Diggory said with a third eye roll. I laughed softly. Sounded like Uncle Moody.

I headed into the kitchen to get some toast and left the conversation behind me.

"Did someone say mad-eye?" Bill asked as he came into the kitchen with Charlie. "What's he been up to now. Nice glasses Elizabeth."

I grinned but my mouth was full of bread and butter so I didn't answer.

"He says someone tried to break into his house last night." Mrs. Weasley said, putting more food on the table.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" George asked. "Isn't he that nutter-"

"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody." Mrs. Weasley said sternly and left the room.

"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" Fred muttered. "Birds of a feather."

"Moody was a great wizard in his time." Bill said. I nodded fervently.

"He's an old friend of Dumbledore's isn't he?" Charlie asked.

"Dumbledore's not what you call normal though, is he?" Fred asked and I laughed. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything. . ."

"Who is Mad-Eye?" Harry asked interested. "And since when do you wear glasses Elizabeth?"

"An Auror- that's a dark wizard catcher." I said, grabbing another piece of toast and buttering it. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full cause of him. He was great. I know him too, he's a family friend of dad's. I call him Uncle Moody. . . long story. Anyways, a lot of people think he's paranoid because he had a lot of enemies. Family members of the people he put away." I paused and then said, "He's going to be a teacher at Hogwarts this year. But nobody but Dumbledore and Hagrid were going to clap for him when he's introduced. I expect ya'll will clap for him now? I'd hate to be the only student clapping."

"He is?" Charlie asked with renowned interest and a mouth full of food.

I nodded. "Dumbledore wants an Auror at Hogwarts this year and Mad-eyes the best."

"Why does Dumbledore want an Auror at Hogwarts this year?" George asked with interest.

I shrugged but grinned. "Oh gee, I don't know. Maybe it's to keep you and Fred in line this year."

The others laughed, including the twins.

"Nah, but I'm not going to spoil the surprise." I said. "Dumbledore will announce it tonight."

"That's frustrating." George groaned.

"And I've worn glasses my entire life." I said, shrugging. "But I decided I didn't want to wear them anymore and now my left eye's been diagnosed as worse than my right eye so I have to wear them again. Pity."

"They look good." Bill, Charlie, and Fred all said as one, and then scowled at each other. Ginny and Harry snorted into their porridge and Hermione hid a smile behind her book. Ron looked confused. I got up to brush my teeth, my cheeks blushing bright red.

Bill and Charlie decided to come to the train station with us, but Percy didn't, much to my relief. He said, "I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment. Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."

"Yeah, you know what, Percy? I reckon he'll know your name soon." George had said, and we'd all laughed, and Percy had left in a huff.

Mrs. Weasley had called three Muggle taxis. The taxi drivers didn't seem very happy with transporting the animals. Harry, Hermione, and Ron got into one cab. Fred, George, and Ginny got in another and I rode with Bill, Charlie, and Mrs. Weasley in the last cab.

It wasn't a terribly uncomfortable car ride. I was squeezed between Charlie and Bill but neither of them seemed to mind the closeness. To be fair, I didn't mind the closeness either.

On the platform, I saw that Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been severely scratched by Crookshanks and I was glad that I had not been in the cab with them. I loaded my trunk onto a trolley- Bill helping- and we made our way into the trains station.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went through the barrier first. Fred and George followed, then Ginny and Charlie, then Bill and I. Mrs. Weasley followed from behind. I got onto the train and then put my luggage up where Ron, Hermione, and Harry were and then went back out with them to say good-bye to the others.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think." Charlie said, giving Ginny a hug.

"Why?" Fred asked through narrowed eyes.

"You'll see. Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it. . . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it', after all." Charlie said with a grin.

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year." Bill said, looking wistfully at the train. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, yeah, chalk it up to sound amazing and then- oh you can't actually compete in it because none of you are seventeen boo hoo.

"Why?" George asked impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year. I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it. . ." Bill said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"A bit of what?" Ron asked, almost angrily.

The whistle blew at that moment. I kissed Bill and Charlie on the cheeks and thanked Mrs. Weasley for letting us stay and then climbed on board. Both Bill and Charlie had red faces and dopey grins on their faces. I rolled my eyes and headed back to the compartment while the others tried to get Bill and Charlie to tell them what was happening at Hogwarts this year.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione came into the compartment a few minutes later. Ron was grumpy and pulled his dress robes out of his locker. I breathed a sigh of relief to see Mrs. Weasley had used my money to buy him a set of maroon dress robes with no lace.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts, at the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say." Ron muttered, throwing his dress robes over Pigwidegon's cage. "Wonder what-"

"Ever heard of a surprise Ron?" I muttered and Harry laughed.

"Shh." Hermione said, pressing her fingers to her lips.

". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore- the man's such as Mudblood-lover- and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do..."

Hermione got up and closed the compartment door. "So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he? I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him!"

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" Harry asked puzzled.

"Good lord Harry." I said, rolling my eyes and looking up from my book. "How'd you pass your History of Magic test?"

"Yes, and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts." Hermione said with a disapproving sniff.

"I think I've heard of it." Ron said vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

"Norway or Sweden." I said, not looking up from my book. "In the farthest tip of one of the countries, right next to the sea."

"How'd you know that?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "Other students don't usually know where other schools are."

"Er- why not?" Harry asked before I got a chance to explain.

"There's traditionally a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets." Hermione said.

Ron laughed. "Come off it, Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts- how are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts is hidden?" I said in an exasperated voice.

"Everyone knows that." Hermione said.

"Everyone that reads Hogwarts, a History anyways," the two of us said together.

"So just you two. Go on- how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?" Ron asked, smiling.

"It's bewitched." Hermione said. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE."

"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Maybe, or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable-"

"Come again?" Harry asked.

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?" I asked.

"Er... if you say so." Harry said with a shrug.

Hermione eyed me with suspicion and said, "But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

I glared at her, "Yes, I said Norway and Sweden which are pretty cold countries. They also take a lot of students from Bulgaria."

"How would you know, though?" Hermione said, frustrated. "It's not in any book that I've read."

"I don't know, Hermione." I said, a bit annoyed. "I just know."

Hermione hmphed a little. She was the sort that didn't trust information unless she read it in a book.

Meanwhile, Ron was daydreaming and said aloud, "Ah, think of the possibilities. It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident. . . Shame his mother likes him..."

"Why don't you just tell us what's going to happen at Hogwarts Liz." Harry said, smiling at me and I nearly gave in.

I put my head deeper into the book, "Not happening. Why should I ruin the surprise?"

The sky became horribly dark as we continued to travel and it was getting harder to read my book as the train lights hadn't completely turned on yet. Eventually they did and many of Harry and Ron's friends checked in for a bit of time.

Seamus, Dean, and Neville came in to talk about Quidditch with Harry and Ron. I joined in a little bit, but not much. Neville stayed, even after Seamus and Dean had left. Ron pulled out his Viktor Krum figurine and put it in Neville's hands.

"Oh wow." Neville said enviously.

"We saw him right up close, as well. We were in the top box-" Ron was saying.

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley." Draco Malfoy rudely interrupted. I briefly glanced up and saw that both Vincent and Gregory seemed to have grown a foot over the summer and then looked back down, uninterested.

I was reading It again. Reading about how Eddie was in the hospital with a broken arm and was talking to his mother about her sending his friends away. And of course, it was written in an old time when girls who hung out with boys were considered sluts because girls weren't supposed to hang out with boys once they turned a certain age. Eddie was asking his mum if she had known that his asthma medicine was just water and mint flavoring and she was debating about telling him that yes, she knew he wasn't actually sick.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy." Harry said coolly.

Draco surveyed the room, looking for something to criticize and I was glad once again Mrs. Weasley had bought Ron different robes.

"Going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know. . . you'd be able to afford a decent broom if you won. . ." Draco said slyly.

"What are you talking about?" Ron snapped.

"Are you going to enter? I suppose you will, Potter? Or you Kane? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?" Malfoy asked with a sneer. "And what's up with those ridiculous glasses?"

"Nope." I said, flipping a page in my book, sounding as bored as can be. "Dumbledore put an age limit on it. Only seventeen year olds get to compete. And I've always worn glasses, don't you pay attention to anything?"

Draco looked disappointed and then I looked up and gave him a lovely smile and said, "By the way, I've been meaning to ask how long it took for the spell to wear off at the cup the other day. Is your stomach still sore?" I finished off with mock concern.

Harry and Ron laughed.

Malfoy's face turned red with anger and said, "I'll make you pay for that move."

"Lovely, can't wait to kick your ass again." I said, flipping another page.

Draco turned away and stormed off.

"Elizabeth. . ." Hermione said in a warning voice, "Do you have to piss him off every chance you get?"

"Well. . . yeah." I said, closing my book as the chapter ended. "What else am I supposed to do when he's around? Read?" Harry and Ron laughed again. Neville stayed with us for the rest of the time.

⬅️➡️

[thatsgay-writes]

Catra x twin!sister reader where reader travels in alot of planets to find her sister and when she landed on etheria she explored the whispering woods and found melog, with their help she found glimmer and she led her to her castle and she finally met her sister. Catra wasn't pleased about it thinking that her family abounded her she just pushes reader away and goes to her room. Reader stays and went to deal with catra. They talked (mostly arguing) and in the end catra and reader hugs and they became very dear friends.

(I'm basically making you a nicer version of Catra with super girl powers (which you don't use in the story) and Lena Luthor as your wife because why not. I am also putting everyone in their early to late 20s... I also forgot to add Melog :( sorry.)

"Space log, day... 2000?" You mumble as you speak into the recorder on your ship. "It's been... 4 years since my son was born. 8 years since my people finally fully integrated with the civilization of our sister planet. 10 years since I renounced my royal title. 12 years since I met the love of my life. 16 years since my home world was destroyed by the Horde and my parents were killed. And... 24 years since I have last seen my baby sister." You breath out, having lost hope after so many years of things going wrong. "Lena and Madden have stayed on the planet Oa while I explore this last planet. It appeared almost 2 years ago and was the last place the Horde had ever been. Who or whatever is on the planet must be powerful." "This... This will be the final planet I explore. I have no hope of seeing my sister again." God you were so tired of the disappointment you felt every time you couldn't find your sister. "Happy 26th birthday." You mumble out as you get closer to the new planet. "End log."

---

"This is spaceship Kr 97. Requesting permission to land. I repeat requesting permission to land." You spoke into your radio, hoping to hear anything back. Maybe this planet didn't have the technology yet for radios? "If anyone can hear me. My name is Y/n and I come in peace. I will be landing my ship on your planet and will wait 2 days before exploring on my own." You say into your radio before putting it back where it had been hanging and controlling your ship into the planets atmosphere. It was a little bit of a bumpy landing but you landed your ship just fine on the outskirts of what seemed to be a forest. You set a 48 hour alarm on your phone. You weren't sure how the people or creatures of the planet told time, so you just stuck with what you knew. It had kept you alive so far anyways.

"Alrighty." You say to yourself as you step off of your ship. You take a deep breath as you feel the yellow sun power you up. "48 hours, let's get to work."

---

You spent the next two days cleaning up in and around your spaceship, setting up a camp, and watching how the forest worked so you knew what you could eat and what you couldn't. You had been sitting on the ground relaxing when you hear your timer go off. You click the loud noise off and stand up, grabbing the bag you had prepared. While learning the forest, you had seen some villages that seemingly lead towards somewhere and you had decided that the best course of action was to hop from village to village to see if their was a kingdom or something of that nature that you could get into contact with. You just hoped everyone was nice and that this wouldn't be a hard planet to navigate.

---

The first town you enter seems to be a farming village. You can tell because you had to walk through fields and saw, what you assume, were the livestock on the planet. You stood behind some trees for a while as you assessed how the villagers acted. You watched as kids ran around playing with their friends, shopkeepers and homeowners leaving their windows open in the nice weather, clearly not scared of being robbed. You decide that it's safe enough to enter and you have your powers to back you up incase things go wrong. It was weird because the planet had 3 moons and only 1 sun, usually planets had the suns out number moons but it was enough. You fix your cloak over your ears and tuck them back so they wouldn't be noticeable or a defining characteristic if things went sideways.

You walk slowly through the village, having expected to get some attention from your large black robe. And you do get some curious looks but it's mainly all friendly smiles. You are almost halfway through the village, aiming to enter one of the shops and ask around, when a something hits your leg. You look down and see a ball a few inches in front of your foot. You pick it up, making sure to retract your claws, and hold it out to the toddler who was staring at you and his ball. "Here you go." You say to him as you hold the ball out and shake it a little so his attention goes to it. He waddles up to you and takes the ball from you. He stares at it for a few seconds before making motions with his hands, wanting you to hold him.

Without hesitating, you pick him up and hold him close to your chest. "Where is your mother, kitten?" You ask him as he reaches up to play with your ear that were still under your hood. "Kitty!" He squeals as he knocks the hood off your head and you hear an audible gasp from behind you. "Oh my gosh, Catra I am so sorry! We didn't think you were visiting till next week. We would have prepared a feast for you and the rest of the princesses." You turn around and see an elderly looking man, who's eyes widen at the sight of you. "Have you gotten taller and cut your hair again?" He asks confused. You give him a small smile, "I'm sorry but I'm not this Catra you speak of. Are you saying there is someone similar looking to me on your planet?" You ask and the man gives you a weird look when you call it his planet but slowly nods his head. You feel hope for the first time in years and eagerly ask the man if you could stay near the town till she came next week. He gave you a bit of a weird look, not sure who you were now and unsure of your intentions, even though your reaction was positive. "Sure."

---

After returning the toddler to his mother, you basically sprinted back to your ship in excitement. "Lena! Lena!" You shout happily into the radio on your ship. Time is a little different on the planet as the sun was just starting to set but it would already be completely dark on Oa. But by your clock it was only 9, so Lena and Madden should still be awake. "Y/n?" You hear your name crackle through the radio and a smile appears on your face. "Lena you'll never believe it! There is someone on this planet that supposedly looks just like me and vice versa!" You say into the radio, feeling like a kid on Nova day. "I think it's her... I hope its her." You say as you image seeing your sister again for the first time in 24 years. "I'm so happy for you y/n! We will start making preparations to join you soon." You bite your lip in thought. "Maybe you should wait... I just wouldn't want to overwhelm her, you know?" You can almost hear Lena nodding on the other end of the phone. "That makes sense, we'll plan to leave by the end of the week if everything goes well."

"Geez I love you so much." You mumble with a wide grin. "And Madden too. Is he still up?" "No he fell asleep a few minutes before you radioed, he spent all day playing." "Oh well, tell him I love him and I'll radio back in the morning." "Okay, bye." "Bye."

---

"We need to be very careful about this." Glimmer says as she and the best friend squad enter the village who sent a letter the day before about someone who looked like Catra in their village. "We already knew that there were other people out there but as we already know not all of them are friendly." Catra walks next to Adora, numbly nodding along. Could this be it? Could she finally learn where she came from? Everyone else in the Horde had been born into it and Adora had come through a portal but no one really knew where Catra was from. "Are you okay?" Adora asked as she squeezed Catra's hand, nervous at how silent her girlfriend was. Catra just mutely nods back.

---

"This planet is simply marvelous!" The group hears you laugh out after being greeted by the village leader. "They look almost just like you Catra." Bow comments as they watch your tall figure move around as you play with the kids of the village and let them climb all over you. "Y/n!" You hear someone call your name and turn to see the village leader standing with a group of people and... Catra. They watch as you freeze and let your mouth fall open in shock. You set the kids down and encourage them to go play together. You walk towards the group with a smile. You go down the line of friends shaking their hands and introducing yourself, ignoring their looks of surprise, before finally reaching Catra. "Wow..." You breathe out in absolute awe. You can feel your eyes get misty the longer you stare at her. "You look so much like mom." You say with a watery laugh that completely sets Catra off.

"Who are you?" She asks as she pushes her finger into your chest making you take a step back. "What? Catra, I'm your sibling. I thought the similarities would make that clear." She glares at you and you can feel the whole village watching the interaction. "Just because we look similar doesn't mean anything." You move quickly and grab her right hand and hold it up next to your left one, both birthmarks showing.

You watch as Catra freezes. Her face and body come to a complete stop as her eyes flicker between the identical birthmarks and your face. "I know you must have questions and I do too. But I have spent the last 8 years going all across the galaxy looking for you and right now all I want is a hug... Please?" You get out as you let go of Catra's hand only for her to push you away one last time and storm into a temporary tent that had been set up for the best friend squad.

You take a second to take a breath before following after her. "I wouldn't follow after her, she needs time to cool down." A blonde, Adora, said to you as she placed a hand on your should to stop you. "I've dealt with people with anger issues before." You say as you brush her hand off. "I know how to handle this." You say and walk towards the tent again, not giving anyone a chance to stop you.

---

"You can't hide away in here sister." You say as you enter the tent, dodging a pillow that was thrown at your head. "Don't call me that." She mumbled angrily. "And why not, you are my sister are you not? I mean everyone saw the birth mark." Catra stands up angrily. "If you were my sister, you would have spent longer than 8 years looking for me! And how can you even compare me to this "mom" that I know absolutely nothing about!? Where are they anyways, huh? Where's great old mom and dad that I have spent the last 25 years not knowing about!" She unloads onto you and your feel your heartbreak at how disheveled she looked. You shouldn't have assumed everything would be smiles and laughs when the two of you first met.

"26." "Huh?" "You're... We're 26. Our birthday was 2 days ago." "So I don't even know my own birthday!" Catra explodes. "Get out." She says suddenly and quietly. "What?" "I said get out." She repeats and you shake your head at her. "I'm not leaving." You watch as Catra's hair stand up. "I am giving you one last warning, get out now or I will do something I might not regret." You cross your arms and stare her down. "I have spent the last 8 years planet hopping with my family looking for you. I. Am. Not. Leaving."

Catra jumps at you suddenly, attempting to scratch, hit, kick, do anything to make you leave the tent. Instead of doing what she wanted, you just wrapped her in a tight hug and sat on the ground. You stay like that for a while, her trying to hold back sobs and angry tears before finally letting go and you just rubbing circles on her back to try and calm her down. "Why?" Is all she says after almost an hour of being in that position. "Why what?" "Why now?" You let out a sad sigh at her question. "Mom and Dad are dead, killed by the Horde Prime and his followers when I was 10." You can feel Catra flinch at how blunt you were and the fact that she had worked for the Horde only a few years ago. "You had already been missing for 8 years at that point, multiple search teams being sent out but none could find you." You squeeze Catra tighter as you feel yourself relive all the grief that you carried for the past 16 years.

"I managed to get most of our people off the planet and to our sister planet before the Horde completely destroyed everything. Got everyone situated on that planet, met the love of my life, renounced my claim to any throne, and finally I started looking for you." It's silent for a few minutes as Catra absorbed everything you said. "So..." You asked as you wiped your tears off your face. "What about you?"

You and Catra spent the rest of the night and next day sharing stories about your childhood and how differently but similar the two of you had grown up. You even got to tease her about Adora and the fact that you were, technically, her older sister by 2 minutes. You were also very excited when you got to show Catra around the ship you had taken to get to Etheria.

---

"So I am guessing everything went well?" Lena asked over the radio after you finally called her about coming to Etheria. "It was a little rocky at the beginning but we smoothed things over... She's great Lena, you guys are gonna love each other." You say with a giant smile on your face as you look at Catra who was relaxing in the copilot seat next to you.

[lordoftermites]

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

[ptergwen]

let’s just pretend

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: rom com references, drinking, and a little bit of angst

summary: you cope with your feelings for peter by getting drunk on halloween

a/n: ok i really really love this and i loved writing it too? it’s the first like original idea i’ve had in a while so maybe that’s why but yeah i hope y’all enjoy and that this puts you in a halloweenish mood :-)

-

there’s something about fall that makes you nostalgic. the same images pop into your head whenever you hear the word october. pumpkin patches, colorful leaves, and hot coffee. it reminds you of being a kid. only when you were a kid, all you could think about this time of year was what you were going to be for halloween.

you’d spend weeks getting your costume together and coordinating with all your friends. trick or treating was literally the only thing that mattered. if you wanted to get good candy, you had to have a good costume.

the high school version of candy is alcohol. everyone just goes to parties so they can drink the whole night. no one even dresses up usually. you personally would rather have chocolate than cheap beer. your whole friend group agrees on that.

that’s why you decided to throw your own party this year. anyone who misses the old halloween can come hang out. so far it’s only peter, mj, ned, betty, and the rest of the decathlon team coming. betty invited everyone for you. she also asked liz, but she’s going to flash’s party. he only gets so many people because his parents are never home and don’t care if he raids the liquor cabinet. whatever.

you’re out finding something to wear with peter and mj a few hours before it starts. ned and betty already picked their costumes. she’s going as an angel, and he’s going as the devil. you think they should switch. they’re out shopping for snacks while the three of you hit up spirit halloween.

mj groans every single second there’s silence, and peter keeps getting scared by the motion sensor decorations. he eventually ends up having to go somewhere in the store that doesn’t have any. so, it’s a lot.

“why don’t you be a vampire?” mj asks in her fake interested voice, taking a pair of fangs off the rack in front of her. you scoff. “i think i did that in sixth grade.” she puts them back with a huff. “witch?” she’s just suggesting every costume she sees so you can get out of here. her lack of enthusiasm makes you want to take longer.

“no.”

“zookeeper?”

“eh.”

“what about cat in the hat?”

“mj, what? no.”

“uh... school girl?”

“ok, that’s just offensive.”

“you’re right. why do they have that?” she eyes the costume suspiciously. you cover it up with a random cloak that fell onto the floor. you’re never going to find anything at this point. maybe it’s a sign you’re too old for this. just when you’re about to lose all hope, peter comes over.

he’s holding up the plaid yellow skirt and blazer cher wears in clueless. it’s one of the most iconic rom com outfits. you grab it with a gasp, peter giving you a knowing smile. “oh my god! wait, where did you find this?” “they have a section with movie stuff.” there’s a han solo costume in his other hand.

you throw an arm around his neck for a quick hug. peter squeezes you and chuckles when he pulls away. it gets a sigh out of mj.

“sure you don’t wanna be the guy she ends up with?” she elbows peter’s arm. the two of you share a disgusted look. “josh? ew, he’s her ex stepbrother,” you dismiss her. “they’re, like, related,” peter adds. mj rolls her eyes almost to the back of her head and starts to walk away. “someone needs to unplug both of your tv’s.” you and peter follow after her.

of course she would suggest a couple’s costume. she was probably trying to make you both get weird. you’re always being teased for spending so much time together. even your parents and may make little comments about it. you can’t help the fact that you have almost everything in common.

peter is the only person your age who doesn’t try so hard to be cool. when you’re with him, you can be the biggest nerd and wear fluffy pajamas and play with legos. it’s a judgement free friendship.

you’ll admit you’ve wanted it to become a judgement free relationship. there’s no way he doesn’t feel your heart beating against him when you cuddle during movie nights. he has to notice your goofy smile whenever he calls you a nickname.

but, it could all be platonic in peter’s mind. maybe he sees you as more of a sister. that would make josh the perfect costume to go with you as cher.

you shutter and try to push the idea out of your mind for the rest of your time at spirit halloween.

it’s almost time for the party to start when you get back to your house. your parents let betty and ned in to start setting up on their way out. they’re going for dinner so they aren’t around to embarrass you. you have until midnight, then there’s nothing you can do. that gives you four hours.

mj is changing into the coraline costume you made her get, which she actually doesn’t hate. betty is helping you do some last minute decorating. peter and ned are putting out snacks. it’s a really good system you have.

“love the the plaid, y/n. you look so fetch!” betty compliments in between throwing fake cobwebs over your couch. you snort and finish stringing up some lights. “wrong movie, but thanks.” “oh. oops,” she shrugs and gets back to cobwebbing. “peter found it for me.” all the lights are up, so you go to plug them in. betty giggles on your way over.

your living room has an orange glow to it now. dusting your hands off, you admire your work. the moment of admiration ends when you notice how betty is looking at you. “what?” “peter found it for you,” she repeats suggestively. “when he was getting his costume, yeah,” you say like it’s nothing because it is nothing.

“so, what i’m hearing is he wanted to see you in a skirt.” you furrow your eyebrows at her. “what? no, he just-“ she wiggles her own eyebrows at you. you’re going to start sweating if you talk about this any longer. too aware of yourself now, you pull down your skirt and trudge over to the stairs. “i’m gonna go check on mj.”

you’re in the middle of convincing her she looks great and to leave your room when everyone calls your name downstairs.

“what?” you shout back from behind the closed door. “you should get down here.” it’s only peter this time. mj widens her eyes at you, but you’re gone before she can say she isn’t wearing this again.

you make your way down the stairs. the three of them are huddled in front of the door. “is someone here?” you mouth, ned looking off to the side awkwardly. they all move out of the way so you can see who it is. it’s flash. you’re obviously surprised to see him at your house, especially since he’s supposed to be having his own party right now.

“um, what are you doing here?” you try not to sound mean. “didn’t you invite the whole decathlon team? i’m on it.” you’d forgotten about that. peter says he’s only an alternate. flash side steps past you to get inside. you didn’t say he could come in. he heads straight to the chip bowl on your living room coffee table. you’re left shaking your head in pure confusion.

“dude, kick him out,” ned whispers to you. you wave your hand dismissively and walk over. he’s kicking his legs up on the table when you get there. “dope outfit. you look good.” he winks and crunches on a tostito. peter is clenching his jaw, but no one sees. “why are you in my house, flash?” you push the bowl away from him. “oh, yeah. my parents came home from vegas early.”

mj finally gets downstairs, squinting at whatever is going on with you while she walks over to everyone else. “i thought we could combine parties.” flash eyes your friends in a way you don’t like. “all your guests are pretty much here, so don’t worry about space.”

you look back at peter to see what he thinks. he shakes his head no. betty is nodding her head so fast you’re pretty sure she’s going to get whiplash. ned agrees with whatever she thinks, and mj doesn’t care. majority rules. plus, you could use one of flash’s playlists to liven things up. how bad could it really be?

“text everyone my address.”

people are flooding your house in the next fifteen minutes. like, your entire grade might be here. flash hooks his phone up to your speakers and blasts his songs. people grab fistfuls of candy and dance around. you’re running low on soda, but one guy brought extra drinks. alcoholic drinks, which you’re uneasy about. that was a big reason why you wanted to have your own party in the first place.

you don’t want to be a lame host, so you let it slide. a girl is sitting on top of your kitchen counter making out with someone. people are yelling so loud you can’t make out a single conversation. this is all going on and yet somehow, the most surprising thing is that they came in costume. some are more casual, like cat ears and lifeguard hoodies. it still counts.

feeling a little bit lost in your own house, you search for peter. he’s sitting on the top stair just watching what’s going on. you get his attention by throwing a mini packet of sour patch kids at him. he catches it, grinning when he realizes you did that. “i love these.” “good. they were the only ones left.” you take a seat next to him and scratch at the material of his vest for emphasis.

“i can’t believe you said yes to him.” peter opens the sour patch kids. the first one is yellow, so he offers it to you. sharing food with him always works because you each seem to like what the other doesn’t. “neither can i, but i think betty would’ve actually hurt me if i didn’t,” you joke while chewing. he rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “please. she’s too nice.”

you lean your head on peter’s shoulder and grab another gummy. he pokes your arm in protest. “this bag is small. get your own.” you’re nuzzling your cheek against him. “i told you they’re gone.” he’s about to put an arm around you when someone screams downstairs. you quickly sit up.

“i’m gonna go see what the hell that was. i’ll find you later?” peter does his best to hide his disappointment. “yeah, of course. good luck.” you clench your teeth and run down the stairs. this is somehow flash’s fault.

it’s been an hour and a half, and peter is nowhere to be seen. the chaos was just that someone really liked the song that was playing. it didn’t take you long to figure that out. when you went to tell peter, he was gone. you’ve looked everywhere for him since, except the backyard.

a pretty big group of people is out here either playing catch or talking. someone also brought a case of beer outside. you spot mj huddled up by the fence with a bottle. it doesn’t necessarily surprise you. it’s weird to see, either way.

“have you seen peter?” you walk up to her. she uses the bottle to gesture somewhere. he’s in the middle of a conversation with liz. your entire body feels like it’s collapsing into itself. it didn’t cross your mind she would be coming even when the party moved to your house.

she’s nice and all. you don’t have any issues with her. not that she knows about, at least. peter had the biggest crush on her for about a month, then it fizzled out. that’s what he told you. unless, he said that to save face.

you’re speechless. mj figured you would be. she gives you a sympathetic smile and holds out her beer. “yep. drink up.” your instincts tell you to take it, so you do. she heads back inside and leaves you alone with your thoughts. that’s not good for you. the only to way to get rid of them is by chugging the rest of this bottle.

you’ve never had your own drink before, and technically you aren’t now. this is still the most alcohol you’ll ever have in your system. before you can change your mind, you take a generous swig. it’s bitter. you don’t hate it as much as you expected to, though.

your eyes land on liz touching peter’s shoulder. that inspires your next big gulp of beer. you finish off the rest, and it hits you fast. you’re understanding why this is such a popular vice. you don’t feel anything but how tipsy you are. light and floaty. you decide to stumble back into the kitchen and find out what other drinks people brought.

the bright color of your costume catches peter’s attention. he was wondering where you were. excusing himself from liz, he follows you in. you bump into betty on your way to the punch bowl someone filled. she’s holding a red solo cup with the mystery liquid. both of you buzzed, you laugh and grab her arm.

“sorry. s- sorry.” you’re squeezing behind her, her angel wings brushing against your face in the process. you have to weave through everyone to make it to the drink table. peter meets you there when you’re getting a cup. he’s shocked.

“y/n?” smiling lazily, you take a sip. “hey, peter. pete.” the sober voice in your head tells you to stop talking. he probably shouldn’t know you’re drunk. then again, your cup gives it away. “y/n, have you been drinking?” he sounds concerned. everything is funny to you right now. you giggle out a “yes.”

peter doesn’t want to be that person, but you’re not acting right. he reaches for your drink. you pull it away too abruptly, and some of it spills onto the floor. “you... you’re so...“ you start losing your balance. “woah.” peter wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. he takes the drink out of your hand and sets it on the table.

frowning, he throws your arm around his shoulders so he can help you get upstairs. “come on, y/n/n.” you don’t argue this time. you’re at the part of being drunk where it doesn’t feel good anymore. peter holds you close to his side and walks you out of the kitchen. he stops to talk to ned for a second.

“hey, man. y/n’s parents are gonna be home soon. could you get everyone out?” he says into his ear. “why can’t she do it?” peter moves out of the way so he’s not blocking you. ned sees. you’re completely faded. “oh, shit. is she okay?” he whisper yells. “i’m gonna take care of her.” “i’ll tell everyone to go.” peter presses his lips into a tight smile, then he’s taking you up to your room.

you flop down onto your bed face first. peter shuts the door behind you. “you okay?” he chuckles, you nodding with your face smushed into the comforter. he’d think it was cute if you weren’t piss drunk. gently nudging you, he moves you so you’re on your back.

“let’s get you out of this.” “ooh, betty was right. you do like me in a skirt,” you giggle and bat your eyelashes at him. he huffs. “no, i mean you have to put on pajamas.” you’re pouting now. “you don’t like me in a skirt?” after going through your drawers, he comes back over with a big t-shirt and fuzzy pants. “i never said that.”

you grin again and grab them from him. “ha.” “do you need help changing?” he sits at the edge of your bed. you’re still laying down. he’s not sure you can handle getting up. “no. don’t be creepy,” you say completely serious. peter has to remind himself you’re drunk. “you were the one who thought i wanted you naked, but ok.”

making peter close his eyes, you peel the costume off your body. you got pretty sweaty. you kick everything onto the floor and start putting on your pajamas. your head gets stuck in an arm hole by accident, so peter has to fix that. the rest is fine. he’s about to bring you into the bathroom to brush your teeth, but you face plant into his lap. you’re out.

the next morning, you wake up feeling like ass. your breath is hot and tastes disgusting. your head is pounding. you could throw up. you’re not even sure how you ended up in your bed. then, you notice peter sitting at your desk. he must have helped you in.

a vague memory of him tucking you under the covers while you whined comes back to you, along with a few others. one of them is of him and liz. the whole reason you did this to yourself.

“hey.” your voice comes out hoarse. “hi.” peter nods and points to your night table. there’s a fresh glass of water. you drink it all down as fast as humanely possible, a hand on your heart. it doesn’t phase him after what you did last night. you set the empty glass down and pat the spot next to you. peter sits by your side.

he’s still dressed as han solo, but his vest and belt are sprawled out on the floor. the boots are under your desk. he actually stayed all night for you.

“i think i’m hungover.” you rest your head against his arm. his body relaxes. “you didn’t drink that much. mj said she gave you half a beer,” he almost laughs, you groaning. “that means i’m a lightweight.” “for now.” your arm wrapping around his, you look up at him.

“sorry you had to deal with me. am i in trouble?” “nah, your parents don’t know. we cleaned everything up before they got home.” he lightly pats the top of your head with two fingers. you squeeze your eyes shut when he does it. “you did? thank you so much, wow.” peter nods and smiles for a second.

he lays his back against the pillow on his side. “let’s just pretend that never happened.” “you’re good at pretending,” you mumble to yourself. you’re not as quiet as you think because peter hears it. “um, what?” you feel too woozy to come up with a cover. letting out a breath, you take your head and hands off of him.

“i saw you talking with liz.” “she wanted to know if i could lead decathlon practice next week. she’s not gonna be in school,” he says slowly, not getting it. “why?” having to spell it out is making you frustrated. “didn’t you say you don’t like her anymore?” “yeah, i don’t.”

“so, why was she being all... touchy?” the jealousy is clear in your voice. peter shrugs. “that’s how liz is. i still don’t get why it matters.” you ease yourself to sit up and turn to face him. those three words you’ve been meaning to tell him are on the absolute tip of your tongue. they’re about to come out.

then...

“i like you, y/n.”

peter says them for you.

you’re so surprised you nearly vomit for real. or, it could be the possible hangover. almost a minute has gone by when you realize you’ve been sitting there with your mouth hanging open. you swallow your spit. “you... you do?” “a lot. i kept trying to tell you, but there was never a good time.” his voice is softer now.

“i realized after homecoming. i wished i went with you instead of...” he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. you nod, a small smile spreading across your face. peter’s eyes are so hopeful. “i like you, too. a lot.” your gaze trails down to his lips.

“i’d kiss you if my breath didn’t stink.” “i’ll let you owe me one.” he’s fully grinning now, and both of you laugh. they’re the kind of laughs you do because you’re so happy you don’t know what to say.

peter presses his lips to your temple, your eyes fluttering closed. “get some more sleep. i’m gonna ask you out when you wake up,” he mumbles against your hair. you grab his hand that’s resting on the comforter. “can you stay with me?” “of course.”

he lays down next to you. you pull back the covers so he can get under them. your head is resting on his chest, an arm around his torso. both of his hug your waist. you’re instantly comfortable cuddled up in his embrace. you drift off to sleep with a smile.

this feels like such a dream. it’s the exact type of situation you’d make up in your head. but, it’s real. peter is still holding you when you wake up. he’s not going anywhere.

[duskyskz]

Blueberry Claws - H.H.J

Warnings - Halloween Au, mentioned assault, choking, Hyunjin!Dom mild tones, slight violence

Word Count - 4.7K

A/N - ahaha this .. turned out way longer than I meant to ohno I'm sorry Hyunjin had my heart in a vice grip lately

Part of @nightshade-minho and @mini-meanhoe 's Halloween collab!

*********************************

Elbow deep in ruddy earth, you kneel among the undergrowth of your garden, plucking away stray roots and weeds. It’s not your favourite part of the day, but you pride yourself in the exquisite berries your growth produces, and adequate sunlight is a must in bringing the sweetest fruits. Autumnal chills creep down your spine, warning you of setting sun and cooler nights looming over the forest horizon. It is a quaint little house, settled carefully between the curve of the river and the forest border, a hat’s toss away from the village settlement, and you enjoy it that way - far away enough for privacy and undisturbed peace, yet not isolated enough to be unreachable and dreary. 

People weren't the only viable company, anyway. Your neighbors came in the form of passing badgers rummaging through your compost, squirrels and mice poking their noses through cracks in your windowsill while you bake, the sweet smell of sugar and jams luring in a furry audience you felt obliged to entertain, tossing crumbs and peels into the open yard. 

“Croak!” 

You raise your head away from the mud at the screech, glancing upward. 

“Hello.” You greet your most recent visitor. The magpie quickly climbed upon your friendlist, introducing itself with a persistent knock of its beak against your poor kitchen windowpane. It came back the next evening, and the one after that, never missing more than a day in it’s routine to rob you of your pie crusts. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Croak!” You suppose that’s a yes, considering the intensity with which the bird stares down at your precious blueberries. 

“Come on, then. Lunch wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

***

“Can you believe that - that witch!” You stomp along the pavement to your front door, slamming it open. “The audacity to even imply my pies are anything but organic!”

Positively fuming, you don't entertain the absurdity of venting your frustrations to a corvid. At times, you think to yourself the little blackbird almost understands you - head tilting in accordance with your words, nodding when appropriate and watching your dutifully as if awaiting continuation. 

Then it’s attention switches from your wild gesticulations to the fresh batch of muffins cooling on your counter, and your suspicions of a higher intelligence disappears, leaving you to sweep cake crumbs off it’s feathers. No, plunging neck-deep into hot cake is not wise, you’d point out later. 

***

Maybe the loneliness does get to you after all. It’s a little embarrassing to admit how reliant you become on the magpie’s company. Its’ shrill croaks and glassy eyes became a comfort to you, a presence your day no longer felt complete without. Brushing your fingertips over the delicate feathers on its back, you rest your chin on your other palm. 

“It’s a dreary winter coming, birdie.” You muse, humming at the overcast sky. Masses of grey and washed out blues tumblr over the hills, warning you of approaching snows and rains. “I should fix the roof hatching tomorrow morning - be a shame to freeze my toes off before the solstice, wouldn’t it?” 

 The magpie doesn’t reply, and you don’t expect it to, but the slow blinks as you speak convince you your words don’t fall on deaf ears. 

“As long as I don’t have someone warming my bed, I better do all the warming myself.” Springin to your feet, you set to work on tidying the front yard. 

“Would you care to join me to fetch new hay for the roof tomorrow?” 

Your unconventional companion opens his beak, groaning. Then it snaps down into the ground, impaling one of your finest strawberries. 

Ah, well. 

You can only guess what a magpie must tend to in a day - you weren’t about to keep it from important bird tasks.

***

Your window panes quiver with the force of the hurricane, creaking sadly in their wooden frames. You have no idea what time it could possibly be, but judging by the time already passed since sundown, it’s way into the late night. Dismorphed figures haunt the outside, shadows passing over your bedroom like a predator, and you burrow deeper under your covers. Of course, approaching winter was harsh. In the hillside, mountain winds rolled down rocky foundations to crash into your humble home with rapid force. Turning onto your side, you press your head against the pillow to mute the whistle of the wind through your thin walls. You’d patched the roof last week - but you had yet to insulate the walls fresh, and chills made themselves known through cracks and gaps in last year’s worn overlay. 

With a soul-crushing snap, your window is thrown open as the lock gives way to hurricane, two fragile glass planes whipping open into the dead of night as you curse your luck and scramble out of bed to grasp the handles before they’re torn off entirely.

Yet something past the glass grabs your gaze before you can pull them shut, petrifying you in place. You don’t know if it’s the rain freezing your feet to the ground, or the unfiltered terror, but you can’t even scream as your eyes meet the vividly yellow ones across your garden.

Hunched above your blueberry bush, in a cloak of pitch black, stands a creature you’ve only seen in manic sketches in the village hall prior to tonight. Its’ spine seems bent, somehow, too long and too skewerd to fit precisely in its body, leaving two lumps protruding from its back. In a pale face, boxed in by wisps of black, you can only focus on two luminous eyes, zeroing in on your figure with far too much attention for your liking. 

In its knifed claws it grips a branch of your favourite plant, mangled and weeping blueberry juice onto the dirt. Maroon splatters blot the beast’s face, but you don’t gaze long enough to separate fruit from the blood of some poor soul. 

Maybe your blood will be next on its beak. 

Yanking the window shut, you tumble into your bed, curling as tight as you can into the duvet, shielding your head. Maybe it’ll go away if you don’t make noise, holding your hands to your ears. 

Maybe it’ll just go away.

***

It’s been three days since the storm, and coincidentally, three day since you’ve last seen your closest friend. Really, mayhaps this was a sign your friendship should extend elsewhere, and not the local corvid populace. Shovelling pastries into your hamper, you venture out into the open air for the first time since that night.

You’re still unable to clean the wreckage in your front yard. Somehow, the thought of laying your hands on the same branches that unknown horror touched fills you with dread, and you can’t bring yourself to rid the leftover mess. You had enough jams and preserves stockpiled to last you the whole winter if need be - if you weren’t financially obliged to sell most of them, anyway. 

Fitting yourself with a scarf to guard from temperamental weather, you wrap the wool tightly up to your nose as the first leaves fall from the oaks beside you. 

You love your town, you really do. 

The whimsy of nearby streams rolling over lustrous green fields is a wonder to wake up to every morning, and the walk into town is always a pleasant meander under centuries-old oaks and pine trees, spying on the conversations of woodpeckers and crows.

Yet, among all the commotion, you find yourself missing one particular croak. Never quite the same elegant cry as the other birds, but particular and endearing in its own right. 

And entirely missing from your life for half a week.

Passing the stone gates, you keep to the right of the road to make space for idle carts and horses wandering the streets. Carefully, you unload all your stock onto the market table - this stand has your name carved into the wooden leg, and you pride yourself on being a regular enough attendant to warrant a reserved place. 

The day flurries by you in a mess of clinking jam jars and passing coins. Afternoon had already set in a while ago, traversing into the evening by the time you begin wrapping up your last sale. Bidding goodbye to the market staff, you hoist your (significantly lighter) basket over your forearm, leaving the town square. It’s not dark yet, bare wisps of the night inking over your head as the sun lowers over the woods, letting you lose your train of thought in the scenery.

You feel the last pricks of stress leave you as your thoughts drift to the hallowing creature from nights ago. Perhaps your mind, in its hazy and exhausted stade, played up the vivid shadows and reflections in the moonlight? Yes, surely. There’s no way an animal this size and fright roamed your woods unacknowledged - The only terror you knew was the fabled warlock, but nobody has seen his face in decades. You weren’t even sure what he looked like. All tales of warlocks the library gave you marked them as haunted men, selling their soul for mastery of dark arts, giving up their limbs for a hint of inhuman power. Some had horns, you’d read. Some, a devilish tail winding between their legs, while some gave up their own eyes and replaced them with animal counterparts for better senses. 

It scared you more than you’d like to admit, the more you entertained the possibility of a being so twisted hiding in the depths of your woods - but was Hwang Hyunjin even real, or a figment of townsfolk imagination? 

Entangled in your own head, you fail to notice the arm lashing out to grab your elbow and yank you violently sideways, slamming your back into the brick wall between two buildings. 

“Ouch!” You rasp out, catching your breath, but your scream is broken by the hand quickly winding around your throat.

Great, after a shitty week you were going to get robbed, too! 

“Don't you try open your mouth again, you little bitch.” A coarse voice hissed against your cheek. You tried to reel away from the terrible stench of his breath, but with your back against the wallside, it was impossible to weasel out. “Made quite a pretty penny at the market today, didn’t ya?”

A large, cold hand snuck down your waist, over the ribbons tying your corset shut, and you were sure you’d retch when clammy fingers started tugging at the knot. 

“Where are you hiding it, then? Down your vest?” One sharp pull leaves your corset flying open, exposing your skin to freezing night air, shielded only by a thin undershirt. You try to shake your head, but the hold on your neck makes it impossible to even curse. “That’s a bit thin, isn’t it? Not much to hide under such flimsy fabric -”

“Shit!”

You heave in a breath as the tightness around your throat suddenly wanes, disappearing, and all weight lifts from you. Eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, you blink rapidly to clear your vision, stumbling back as you find focus. 

Shrill cries tear from your assailant, angry red oozing from the gash above his left eye, arms flailing maniacally to chase away the blur of feathers thrashing around his head. Slinking down to catch your breath, you pull your knees to your chest to steady your breathing, though the scene before you grows more gruesome every time you blink. 

You can’t tear your eyes away, even as the bird dives down again, embedding its razor claws in the man’s eye socket. The screams are terrifying, but you don’t have the thought to wonder how no one else came to check the commotion. 

Maybe nobody wanted to.

In muted horror, you watch as the man finally lands a hit, thrashing the tiny bird into the wall opposite with a numbing crack, spinning on his heel to face you once more, though his one eye struggles to find your face. He stumbles forward, lurching in your direction, drops of fresh blood flying at your feet.

“What are you, a witch? I should burn you alive -”

Smack!

You’re sure you’re hallucinating as he topples to the pavement, struck by a surprise force. Hunched over him, in a flurry of black feather, sits a mass you know  you’ve seen before. For a moment you think, another bird? A whole flock? But then the feathered cape shifts, raises, and you realise it’s one pair of  heavy-set wings protruding from a broad back, arms poised to strike over and over at a target long void of defense. You feel sick - everything that unravelled in the last few moments makes your stomach churn, and you vomit onto the floor between your feet. You can’t watch the blood any longer, listen to the crunching sound of tendons snapping and bone breaking, rolling over as you feel your legs give way to jelly.

***

You can feel yourself swaying, gently. You don’t feel the ground, but you know you’re moving, head balanced on something pillowy and warm, but still solid - what a weird combination. 

There’s something holding you up by your legs, and another clutching onto your back. You have half the mind to open your eyes when you’re coherent enough to, knowing you should be alarmed given the situation you just vaguely avoided. But this is nice. Your lift your eyelids barely enough to take in your position, head propped carefully on a shoulder. You can’t see much beyond the collarbone your nose is tucked into without outing yourself as awake, so you settle for breathing in deep, lulling your nerves with the scent of ash and fern. It's safe, comforting somehow, in a way you’ve never felt comforted in. Your forehead grazes his cheek, tips of his dark hair tickling your skin as you heave out a sigh and press your face deeper against the warmth. 

“I’m sorry I left you, Birdie.”

His voice is gentle, too. You let it ring in your head, soft whispers and words you can't quite decipher but appreciate nonetheless lulling you back into shallow sleep. You recognise your surroundings by the shift of light, stepping out from the tree canopy into wide hillside, catching last rays of sunlight. 

You think he’s going to wake you and ask for a key, but your front door grants him access with just a single flick of his wrist under your knee. You’ll have to ask him about that later.

Nudging his way inside, ducking to fit past the low doorframe, your saviour swiftly marches to your bedroom, confirming your suspicions. The layout of your house was entirely too familiar to him for it to be the first time he’s visited the premises. Or the second, if you count the night visit three days back. When he lowers you onto the mattress, it's with such care your heart skips in your chest, and you pray he doesn’t hear it stop entirely when you feel his fingertips brush over your shoulder to pull the blankets over you, strong arms straining under his shirt as he moves your head from his shoulder and you immediately miss the heat. There’s a cup of water by your bedside that wasn’t there before, and when satisfied with your placement, he steps away. Your eyes blink open fully when you feel his presence leave your side. 

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounds small even to you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me around.” He answers after a hesitant pause, kneeling by your bed. “You - You looked really scared that night. I never want you to be scared of me.” 

You sit up, reaching for the glass of water which he swiftly passes to you to soothe your throat and wash out remaining bile. Your skin still burns in the places that asshole touched you, and you hiss when your fingers rub the sore spots on your neck, before a larger hand wraps around your palm, bringing it down to glare at the bruise.

“I won’t apologize for what happened to him, though.” The venom in his voice makes you still. “That filth got what he deserved - I should have taken his other eye, too.” 

“...Is he dead?” You’re not sure you should ask.

“No. I left him breathing, but I can’t guarantee someone will find him in time.” 

“You left him blind, that’s enough Hyunjin.” His head snaps up at the name, as if he didn’t expect the confrontation. “You’re the magpie that’s been visiting my garden this summer, aren’t you? You’re the fabled terror in our woods.”

You say the last part with a smile, but the warlock  lowers his head still, glancing down at the blanket curving over your hips.

“....Yeah.” He mumbles, observing the many silver rings at his knuckles. “Is that too much for you?”

“What do you mean?” You scrunch your nose, confused, when he doesn’t elaborate. 

“At first I just came to visit because of the garden, but every time you saw me you’d talk to me like I was a person - Like I could understand. And I know you talk to the others too, like that ugly goose -” You want to scold him for calling Truffles ugly, but he carries on without pause. “But in my head it was just, nice. Even if I couldn’t reply, whenever you speak, there’s no darkness in me. Nothing but you.”

Hyunjin frowns, not wanting to meet your eyes yet. His hand grips the edge of your duvet, straining the fabric as his wings twitch.

“I was so fucking mad at myself when you saw me. You looked so small, so petrified - and of me. And as much as I wanted to take you into my arms and reassure you I couldn’t.” 

You can’t deny it, you were scared then. But knowing the man before you now, the events of today and the large part thunder and your own exhaustion played into your fear that night, you felt none of the apprehension now, resting your hand atop his shaking ones. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me again, if you’d guessed what I was after that. So I let you be, watching from a distance, because I couldn’t bring myself to let go completely. And today, fuck -” He runs a clawed hand through his locks, pushing hair out of his face to finally look at you, golden eyes rooting you to your spot. “I should have snapped both his legs for even thinking to touch you.”

“But maybe that’s my own vice.” You watch soft pink lips form words you’re not sure are real. They could have been your own imagination, for how quietly he speaks. “Maybe my love would be too much for you.” 

The silence that follows his confession is crushing to both of you, for entirely different reasons. 

You barely wrap your head around the idea of being loved by him before he pulls his hand away from yours, accepting rejection he knew was coming. It’s not until he stands that you breathe in, catching the edge of his jacket before he can leave you again.

“It’s not.” You state. “It’s not too much.”

You hope he doesn’t mistake the quiver in your voice for doubt, because you’ve never been so sure of something in your life. 

“Do you mean that?” The hopeful lilt to his voice sparks your heart alight, he’s at your side in seconds, long feathers sweeping the floor below his feet as he moves. “Are you sure you want me the same way I want you?”

“I do.”

You nod to reassure him, sliding further down the bed to make space for his larger frame. Hyunjin slinks in next to you, crawling over to hover above you, taking in the way you look finally beneath him. His feathers block out most light, sun long set. You can barely see, but before you can complain about missing his ethereal beauty, a candle flickers alight by your window, and another on your bedside table. Another, and yet one more afterward, until your bedroom filters in a warming glow from a dozen shy fires. 

Ah, warlock things. 

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin hesitates still, lips stopping millimeters away from yours as the last strings of hesitation cling to his thoughts until you urge him to move. “You can touch me.”

His lips are warmer than anything you’ve ever felt, moving over your mouth like fine malt wine. There’s a quiver in his hands when he brings a palm down to cradle your cheek, running his thumb over the smooth skin as his tongue runs over your teeth. 

You don’t notice your legs spreading open to allow him between your thighs until his knee bumps against your core, bundling your skirts in his fist to pull them down and off. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to have you under me like that, birdie.” Hyunjin whispers. “All for me, at my mercy - you look so good like that.”

The irony of him using your own nickname for him on you is lost in the moment you arch your back into his touch, pressing your still corseted chest against his palm. Every place he touches has you needing more of him, every part you can reach. 

“Undress me, please.” 

“Gladly.” Nimble fingers pluck the bow of your shirt open, lifting it over your head. In the cocoon of his wings and candle light, you feel a love you’ve never known before. Discarding his own shirt next, you hardly have a moment to take in the exquisite expanse of his chest before your field of vision is taken up with glimmering navy feathers, Hyunjin’s head dipping to swirl his tongue over your nipple. Your grip in his hair makes him keen against your chest, groaning over the sensitive flesh between his teeth.

“Are you - You’re a virgin?” The idea of him being the first to make you feel so open, the only person to see you react to such intimate touch gets him harder than Hyunjin thought possible. 

“Ah, yeah…” You nod. Were your reactions so telling? You suddenly felt even smaller, caged between his arms and the pillows, watching his tamarind eyes flicker.

“I’ll love you well, birdie. Don’t worry.” He blows cool air onto your damp bud and you feel like crying. One hand leaves the space by your head, pinching your other peak. At first gently, testing how far he could push your limits to get you melting at his touch, then harder when you moan at the slight burn. 

Your hips rise to rub against his thigh, unknowingly seeking out friction to aid the dampness gathering in your underwear. His hand meets you there, slipping a finger under the band of your panties to snap it against your skin for your impatience, and you still immediately, recognising his dominance even without prior warning. 

“Be good and wait. If I own you, I’m taking my time with you.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, something about the empty threat makes you want to push his buttons until he snaps. 

You don’t need to wait much longer.

Ridding you of the last scrap of clothing you had left, Hyunjin has you bare and displayed, every part on show and within his reach. Slower than you can take, he drags his thumb on the inside of your thigh, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin just inches away from your dripping cunt. When his thumb finally, finally rubs a circle against your clit you whine his name so loud he nearly bites down hard. Still, he holds his pace, pressing his thumb in patient patterns against your nub as his teeth mark up your thighs.

“Jinnie, go harder, please.”

You know you fucked up when he glances up at you, brows quirking in amusement. 

“I said I’ll take care of you, y/n. If you want to cum, lay there and take it.”

You’re thankful he has a shred of mercy for your sanity, because your pleas seem to have a marginal effect on his movement. 

You eat your words when Hyunjin forces two fingers inside your already wet slit, scissoring you open with harsh flicks of his wrist. His lips remain stuck to your clit, and the sudden assault on your senses has tears rushing down your cheeks.

“W-Wait! Hyun, wait, I don’t want to cum yet!” You don’t really believe he’ll listen.

“Don’t you? But I thought you wanted me to hurry, birdie?” The mockery in his voice makes you clench, and you’d flush if you weren’t so close to orgasm. “For someone not ruined before, you beg for a dick so well.”

“No...Not yet, I wanna cum on you, please.” 

Hyunjin can resist many things - spells, curses. Killing a man on multiple occasions. 

Your whimpering voice as you beg for him to take your virginity in your own bed, wrapped around his fingers and blushing from his tongue is not one of those things. 

“Fuck, okay.”

Pulling his fingers out, your lips part at the emptiness, but your nerves prickle with knowledge of what awaits you next. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, sweat dampening his forehead and eyes peering right into your heart whenever your gazes meet. You’re hypnotised by the way muscles in his back tense when he kneels between your thighs, urging you to open up for his fit. You only catch the briefest sight of his length, but it’s enough to make you gasp in anticipation at the size and thickness of his base. 

“You’re sure you want me?” Your legs wrap around his waist as he asks, not yet penetrating you, only resting his length on your slick core. 

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of, Hyunjin.” You channel all your love and trust into your words, daring yourself to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. 

Feeling the stretch of him is euphoric, inch by inch, more than any discomfort could hope to reach. Your focus on the flex of his forearm propping him up beside your head, the tantalizing way his mouth curls in a moan of your name when he bottoms out, placing his seal on you completely. 

“Tell me when I can move, alright?” 

“N-Now, you can move. Please move.” You’re gonna go insane if he doesn’t ravage you right now, digging your nails into his bicep. Hyunjin starts off slowly, gentle languid strokes brushing over your walls. With every move, he feels you relax, the tension in your legs loosening into desperate longing as you pull him deeper into you, trapping him against your body.

You open your eyes only to grab his hand, wrapping it around your throat. His hips stutter, before he grips you fully, squeezing the sides of your neck until your moans turn to broken cries of his name.

“You’re such a cute little whore, love. What a dirty pussy you’ve been holding out on me.”

The smirk he looks down on you with is downright filthy, degrading every shred of dignity you had left, but you don’t take in anything but him, his hips slamming you into the mattress and the hot breath against your ear. “Are you gonna cum from that? My good girl, just like that...Let go and cum under me.”

He pulls his hand away from your neck, allowing you to heave in a breath and scream his name. Hyunjin holds you down by your wrists above your head, thrusting relentlessly as you cum around him, shaking and sobbing from the overstimulation at your centre. He allows himself to release then, as your whimpers quieten and he rides out your highs with you, filling you to the brim. 

You stay entwined for a moment as you catch your shaky breath, coming out of the headspace Hyunjin fucked you into. When he pulls out, you fight the urge to clamp your legs shut as he holds your thighs apart, admiring the way his cum spills out of your rawed hole. 

“Let me clean you first, birdie.” 

You nearly drift off in the blissed-out feeling that envelops you as he wipes your legs clean with a warm, damp cloth, stroking over tingling bruises with adoration. 

When he’s finally satisfied with your state, Jinnie allows you to tug him back into bed with you, arms immediately coiling around your middle to press you into his chest, nose nuzzling against the crown of your head to breathe in your scent. 

“I meant every word I said.” He mentions, speaking against your forehead. His lips tickle you with every word and you’re so tempted to kiss him again just because you can. “ I really do love you.”

“I know, Jinnie. I love you too.”

****

Tag list - @defsbxessi @godlyaj @palet-innie

[flowercrown-bard]

To give without knowing (5/ ?)

word count: ~5k content warnings: mention of blood, sensory overload from potions, alcohol, brief mention of the possibility of drowning Read on AO3 previous / next

The noise reached Geralt before the inn was even in sight. Cheering. Clanking of mugs and the scratching of cutlery on plates. Shouting. And above all singing. Jaskier’s singing.

A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips even as his head was hammering from all the noise. With every step he took towards the inn it got louder, pressing down on him. Still he forced himself to go on.

By the sounds of it, Jaskier wasn’t exactly pacing their room anxiously in wait of Geralt’s return, but Geralt at least hoped that Jaskier would be happy to see him return from the hunt successfully.

Or maybe it was just Geralt who couldn’t wait to see Jaskier again.

The hunt itself hadn’t been harder or more dangerous than any other, but it had left Geralt feeling drained and exhausted. Any lonely. Always lonely.

Geralt was well aware that he had been the one to insist that Jaskier should stay back at the village and he didn’t regret that decision, but trudging back on his own while the world was too loud and too sharp around him and black blood was splattered on him, he had enough time to think. About how when he brought the young woman he had saved back to her lover, she had been embraced and her lover had pressed kisses into her hair.

No one would ever be there to greet Geralt like this.

And that was alright. He didn’t need hugs and kisses. He had Jaskier. Even if his friend wasn’t truly waiting for him. The thought of his presence was enough to make Geralt’s heart skip a beat and his feet carry him back to him faster.

He knew he shouldn’t hurry like this. He should at least wait until the blood had dried enough to get the worst of it off and for the blackness of his eyes to recede.

As it was, all he did was pull the hood of his cloak deeper into his face and slump his shoulders as if that could make him look less menacing.

It was a valiant effort doomed to fail. 

As soon as he pushed the door of the inn open, eyes turned to him and the cheering quieted down to hushed whispers. Geralt should have been thankful for the lack of audible assault as his head was already bursting from the noise, but all he could think of as more and more smiles dropped and voices died out was that there was one voice still going, strong and unafraid and beautiful. Jaskier’s voice.

He was still singing, uncaring of the way his audience didn’t pay any attention to him anymore, as it should have. He didn’t waver, his voice didn’t take on a bitter note as Geralt took away what should have been his.

Geralt had wanted to keep his hood up and his head down and get through this room as fast as possible. It was too crowded. The smell of alcohol, sweat and food was too much. Everything was. If he stayed in here any longer, he would snap, burst, collapse. Every second worsened that pressure in his head. He should leave. He couldn’t risk these people witness him losing control and becoming a snarling and cowering mess when he couldn’t handle the sensations any longer.

But he couldn’t resist, couldn’t leave without at least looking up at Jaskier.  

Black eyes met blue ones.

Without meaning to, Geralt froze to the spot. Jaskier’s eyes were always blue, always warm and always breath-taking. But now, as Cat made Geralt’s eyes more hideous than ever, Jaskier’s eyes looked brighter, bluer, more beautiful.

For a heartbeat Jaskier held his gaze, before his eyes left Geralt’s face to rake over his body, taking in every part of him without faltering in his song describing Geralt’s supposed heroics. A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine and goosebumps erupted on his arms.

Then Jaskier’s eyes found his again, a question in them as Jaskier cocked his head to the side.

Geralt understood and he gave a nod so small that no one but Jaskier would have noticed.

Yes, that simple gesture said, I am alright. You needn’t worry.

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his voice became brighter somehow.

Something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. He wanted nothing more than to stay and watch Jaskier. Like this, with Jaskier singing despite the lack of applause and appreciative eyes Geralt could almost let himself believe that Jaskier was singing only for him.

But that wasn’t true. Jaskier thrived at the attention and praise of others and as long as Geralt was in the room with him he wouldn’t get that, not to the extent that he deserved, even though over the course of his song more and more eyes turned back to Jaskier, giving Geralt a chance to slip away.

Tearing his eyes away from Jaskier, he made his way to the back of the taproom where stairs were leading up. Once he made it to his and Jaskier’s room, he shut the door and leaned against it heavily. His head dropped back until it touched the cool wood. It wasn’t enough to shut the world out. It wasn’t enough to ground himself against the onslaught of sensations still coming at him.

He could still hear the sounds from downstairs. He closed his eyes and listened as Jaskier changed from his jaunty tune to a more subdued song, slow and soft and soothing. No cheers and banging on tables accompanied the music.

A shallow breath left Geralt and he forced his muscles to relax. It took him longer than it should to gather the strength to push himself off the door, take off his armour and start washing the blood away.

When a soft knock on the door announced Jaskier’s return, Geralt’s eyes had almost gone back to their normal colour. Not that the unnatural yellow was much better than the black.

“Can I come in?” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt’s pulse spiked up and his throat was too tight to reply. After swallowing thickly, he opened the door for Jaskier. Despite how often Jaskier had already seen him like this, despite the lack of fear he had shown down in the taproom, Geralt still felt a spike of fear shoot through him any time Jaskier bore witness to just how little human was left in Geralt.

Yet as Jaskier let out a relieved breath and slipped into the room as if Geralt wasn’t a threat, the fear subsided as it always did.

Geralt didn’t argue when Jaskier took the cloth he had used to watch himself away from him and started to gently dap at the scratches Geralt had gotten from the fight. Jaskier worked quietly and in concentration – a stark contrast to his usual lack of focus and need to make himself seen.

His barely-there touches were just enough to ground Geralt. Anything more than that would have made the headache flare back to life, and yet Geralt couldn’t help but wish for more, for the touches to linger, for them to be given as a sign of affection instead of just a necessity.

But he was lucky to receive even this much from Jaskier. He shouldn’t ask for more. So he didn’t.

When the pulsing pressure against his temples finally subsided and the colours and noises around him lost their sharp edge, Geralt was the first to speak, giving a vague comment about how Jaskier’s earlier performance had appeared successful.

Jaskier’s face lit up and Geralt felt a pang through his chest when he pulled away.

“It was! It’s been so long since I had an audience so appreciative.” His mouth quirked into a smirk. “Try telling me again that those fae gifts don’t bring luck. I had a wonderful audience, you barely got hurt and by the looks of that bag of coins you have there, the alderman wasn’t too stingy either.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. It really had been a good day. Better still, since he was back with Jaskier.

“Why don’t we celebrate this streak of luck?” Jaskier asked with shining eyes. “It’s been too long since we just took some time for ourselves without worrying about monsters or coin.”

Geralt’s stomach swooped and he was all but ready to jump at the opportunity to watch Jaskier have fun, laugh and maybe lean against Geralt as he joked. But even the thought of going back down to where people would be staring at him unabashedly and shoot him dirty looks was enough to give him pause.

Geralt’s hesitation must have shown on his face for Jaskier’s brows knitted together in contemplation. “Ah, I see,” he said quietly.

Geralt swallowed harshly. “No, it’s fine. I want to.”

Though his insides twisted uncomfortably, he made to grab for the coin bag. Jaskier’s hand on his arm halted him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jaskier pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he thought. “How about we go somewhere else? Somewhere a little nicer and quieter? I have found this beautiful spot earlier that I wanted to show you.”

A wave of relief washed over Geralt and he nodded, letting Jaskier pull him along.

--

Jaskier had been right, the place was nice. Just outside the village was a lake, surrounded by a handful of trees, giving them shade from the hot summer sun.

They sat in silence and watched as the dying light of day reflected in the still waters. At least Jaskier did. Geralt wasn’t able to stop himself from glancing at his friend, the way his hair took on an almost reddish note as the sun disappeared behind the horizon and his cheeks glowed almost golden.

He was beautiful. Far too beautiful for someone like Geralt.

As if sensing Geralt’s melancholy, Jaskier produced the bottle of wine he had bought from the innkeeper as they had made their way outside.

Geralt raised an eyebrow when he saw just how expensive the bottle was but he didn’t make a comment and Jaskier didn’t offer up an explanation for why he had spent so much money on this either.

After not even an hour of drinking, Jaskier’s cheeks were turning a pretty shade of red and his lopsided smile didn’t seem to want to leave his face anytime soon.

Geralt had taken to holding onto the bottle so that Jaskier wouldn’t drink it all in one go. That didn’t stop Jaskier from trying to sneakily steal the bottle back. ‘Sneaky’, in this case, meaning that Jaskier leaned over Geralt with all the subtlety of a gossip hunter watching a drama unfold, practically falling into his lap.

Geralt froze, unable to push Jaskier off of him as he should have and fearing that Jaskier’s mood would turn sour if he realised just how close he was to Geralt. The shock was enough for Geralt to slacken his hold on the bottle.

With a triumphant grin, Jaskier snatched the bottle out of his grip, their fingers brushing together.

He took a long swig and when he sat the bottle back down, a few droplets of the red wine glistened on his upper lip.

Geralt couldn’t look away. He was lucky that Jaskier showed no sign of being bothered. Had he been sober, he probably would have squirmed at the intensity of Geralt’s attention. As it was, he almost seemed to preen under it, as if Geralt wasn’t a witcher but a handsome man whose attention was something desirable.

Whether it was the summer heat or the alcohol, it didn’t take long before Jaskier shrugged off his doublet and flung it too the side. It wasn’t the first time that Geralt saw Jaskier in only his undershirt – hell, he had seen him wear far less than that many times – but Geralt felt heat rise in his face nonetheless. His mouth went dry when Jaskier stood up on wobbly legs and stretched his arms high over his head. His shirt rode up a little, revealing a stripe of smooth skin.

Geralt’s fingers twitched and his jaw clenched. Abruptly, he turned away. It wasn’t right to look at Jaskier like this. Not ever, but especially not now when Jaskier was on the verge of being drunk.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said with mirth in his voice. “I am going to do something very stupid and very fun.”

Geralt’s eyes darted between Jaskier’s. Without meaning to he leaned closer. Did he imagine Jaskier doing the same?

He must have, for a second later, Jaskier gave him a wink and a grin and with a “Stop me if you can!” he dashed towards the lake.

At least he tried. Jaskier wasn’t steady on his feet anymore and the fact that he kicked off his shoes and tried to shimmy out of his breeches as he ran towards the water didn’t help either. More than once he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before he would fall.

Geralt’s hackles rose. In his mind he already saw Jaskier slipping and hitting his head on one of the rocks lying on the ground or worse - falling into the lake and being unable to keep himself afloat, inebriated and disoriented as he was.

A small cry of surprise as Jaskier once again lost his balance made Geralt jump to his feet. He was at Jaskier’s side in a matter of seconds, just as he was tripping and about to hit the ground.

Without thinking, Geralt reached out and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back up to stand on his feet.

“Careful,” Geralt said in a low voice, too aware of how Jaskier pressed himself close against Geralt in an effort to stay upright. Geralt was suddenly very grateful for the fact that Jaskier was still wearing his undershirt, even though the thin fabric did little to separate them.

A breeze rippled the water and Jaskier shivered in his arms despite the still hot evening air.

“Maybe you should put the rest of your clothes back on,” he said.

“Maybe you should lose your clothes,” Jaskier shot back.

Geralt’s breath hitched.

“What?” His voice cracked on the word.

“For swimming.” Jaskier beamed up at him. Too close. This brilliant smile was too close. Their faces only inches apart.

Geralt’s heart pounded against his chest. “We’re not going swimming,” Geralt said, though his voice was anything but stern. “You can barely stand on your own.”

Jaskier huffed. “Then you just have to make sure I don’t drown.”

Geralt let out a sigh. “Jaskier…”

But Jaskier’s eyes were wide and pleading and his hands had somehow found their way to Geralt’s chest, clutching his shirt. He must have been able to feel his heart beneath the thin fabric.

Geralt’s resolve broke. “Fine,” he relented and slowly pulled away from Jaskier, only leaving a hand on his arm to make sure he wouldn’t fall over.

Having to suddenly stand on his own again made Jaskier’s face twist into a disappointed frown that was quickly washed away when he waded into the water until it reached his waist.

Once Geralt was sure Jaskier was safe to walk on his own, he stayed where he was at the edge of the lake where he could keep an eye on Jaskier.

“Come on in!” Jaskier shouted to him when he finally realised that Geralt wasn’t at his heels anymore.

Geralt shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, a twinkle of mischief in them.

“Alright then,” Jaskier said and took what was probably supposed to be a menacing step towards Geralt.

Within a heartbeat, Jaskier’s mirth was wiped off his face and was replaced by shock. Time slowed as Jaskier slipped, falling backwards. He had just enough time to call out “Gera-“ before he disappeared under water with a splash.

A grin twitched on Geralt’s lips, ready to say “I told you so” as soon as Jaskier appeared on the surface again. The water was shallow, he should come up any second now.

He didn’t.

Geralt’s grin froze. “Jaskier?”

No reply.

The seconds dragged on and suddenly each one felt like an eternity. “Jaskier!”

Panic spiked up in Geralt. Without hesitating a moment longer, Geralt tried to rush to where Jaskier had gone under, but the water made it impossible to move quickly.

Jaskier is a singer, he knows how to hold his breath, he told himself.

Yes, a poisonous voice in his head replied, but he is drunk and it’s dark and who knows what lurks in these waters? You knew this was dangerous and you didn’t stop him from going in the water. If anything happens to him, if he gets hurt or drowns, it will be your fault.

Frantically he scanned the water for any shadows that could be his friend.

Without warning, something burst forth from the water just before Geralt with a loud cry.

Geralt tensed, ready to defend himself, when wet arms wrapped themselves around him, trying to drag him under. Geralt lifted his hands to push the thing off, when he heard a giggle next to his ear.

Jaskier.

A relieved breath escaped Geralt when he realised whose hair it was that tickled his cheek. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Jaskier, needing to hold him close, to feel that he was alright. That Geralt wasn’t the reason why he was hurt.

It took Geralt a moment to realise just what he was doing. He wanted to let go, to take a step back, but Jaskier tightened his arms around his neck, refusing to be let go.

“See?” Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the grin in his voice. “Now you’re already wet. Now you can come swim with me.”

A frown darkened Geralt’s face. “Don’t do that again.”

“Why?” Jaskier said, no less cheerful. “It worked, didn’t it? You came after me.”

An involuntary shudder ran through Geralt and without meaning to, he tightened his hold on Jaskier. “I thought you were drowning. Jaskier, I thought I was about to lose you.”

Saying it out loud was different than just thinking it. It was so much worse. He wouldn’t have been able to say it if Jaskier had been himself right now, but drunk as he was, Geralt could have the hope that he would forget all about this come the morning.

Still, Jaskier must have picked up on the slight tremor in Geralt’s voice, for he pulled back again, just enough to search Geralt’s face.

“But I didn’t. You came to save me. You always do.” A small smile danced across Jaskier’s lips. “Always my hero.”

The words twisted something in Geralt’s chest. “I am no hero.”

Especially not Jaskier’s, though in this moment he wanted nothing more than for that to be true.

“Don’t say things like that.” Jaskier’s voice was small and his brows drew together, looking strangely broken.

Geralt’s throat grew tight. All Jaskier had wanted was to have fun. A nice, relaxing evening as the perfect ending to a good day. And Geralt was ruining it. He couldn’t ruin this for him. He had to make this right.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he was bracing himself.

“I doubt you’ll be calling me a hero in a second,” he forced his voice to take on a playful note.

“Why?” Jaskier asked, narrowing his eyes. “What happens in a seco-“

He was cut off by his own outraged cry when Geralt bent down low to scoop Jaskier up only to throw him back in the water.

When Jaskier came back up again, spluttering in indignation but with the twinkle of joy returning to his eyes, Geralt felt a low rumble rise up in his chest that broke free in a barking laugh.

At the unexpected sound, Jaskier’s indignation made way for something softer. He wiped the wet hair out of his eyes as if he wanted to see Geralt better. The look he gave Geralt was almost one of awe and wonder, his mouth opened into a silent ‘o’, before his lips stretched into a grin and he joined in with the laughter.

The next time that Jaskier jumped towards Geralt and pulled on his arm, Geralt willingly let himself be pulled under. It was worth it if it meant hearing Jaskier’s laugh again.

--

When Jaskier finally tired and they trudged back to their spot beneath the trees, Geralt was uncomfortably aware of the wet shirt sticking to his skin. Even worse, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Jaskier's shirt clung to his chest. The white fabric had turned see-through with the wetness and Geralt had to close his eyes to keep himself from looking.

It did nothing to distract him from Jaskier’s presence. If anything, being unable to see him sharpened Geralt's other senses, zoning in on any other part of Jaskier. He could hear Jaskier absentmindedly ripping out blades of grass. He could smell the alcohol and lake-water on Jaskier that by all accounts should have been anything other than pleasant but somehow made a wave of calm and content wash over Geralt. Jaskier wasn't touching him anymore, but he was sitting so close to him that Geralt's skin felt like it was set on fire. The lingering laughter quieted down as the night had grew darker around them. While Geralt remained silent, just taking in the for once peaceful moment, Jaskier began to hum; not one of his usual drinking songs but a softer one. Geralt wasn’t even sure if Jaskier was aware of his own singing or if he was too drunk to realise what he was doing. What he was doing to Geralt. Geralt had heard Jaskier sing so often and yet there was something strikingly different in the way he sounded now. His voice carried something that made Geralt want to live in this moment forever. Just sitting here beneath the stars far away from anything and anyone else, with just Jaskier by his side and his quiet song drifting through the air. But it couldn't last. As more stars blinked into existence above them, Jaskier's song got interrupted more and more often by his yawns and come the morning they would have to head out again, the carefreeness of this moment forgotten and replaced by the promise of danger and angry shouts.

"Jaskier?" Geralt asked into the dark. "Hm?" Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the tired smile in his voice. "We should go back. You need to sleep." Jaskier sighed, but didn't protest when Geralt stood up and pulled him to his feet as well. It was a testament to how much Jaskier truly needed his sleep that he leaned as heavily against Geralt as he did while Geralt made sure he wouldn't trip in the dark. When the grass gave way to the uneven cobblestones of the village’s streets, Jaskier pressed himself even closer to Geralt so he wouldn't stumble. It was so very tempting to just pick up Jaskier as Geralt had done mere hours before and carry him back to the inn. But what had happened in the lake had been a spur of the moment decision. It had only been to get Jaskier out if the gloomy mood Geralt had caused. Jaskier had wanted to have a good time and he had been willing to allow Geralt to be the person to make him laugh. It would be too much to hope that Jaskier would welcome Geralt's touch now that the silly mood had disappeared.

So Geralt was prepared for the moment that Jaskier would come to his senses and pull away again. He wasn't prepared for the way his heart would drop when Jaskier actually did it. Geralt forced himself not to tense up again. It wouldn't be fair to Jaskier. He shouldn't feel pressured to keep touching Geralt for any reason. Jaskier stumbled a couple of steps away from Geralt. He bent down and Geralt was wholly prepared to steady Jaskier while he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the street. What Geralt didn't expect was for Jaskier to suddenly start making weird noises. Were he a generous man he would say it sounded almost like meowing. "What on earth are you doing?" Geralt asked dumbfounded. "Shhh," Jaskier hissed without taking his eyes off of the other end of the street. "You'll chase it away." Geralt followed Jaskier's eyes and landed on a small shadow walking curiously towards them. A cat. Looking as focussed as Geralt had rarely ever seen him, Jaskier creeped forwards until the cat was close enough to sniff at his fingers. Jaskier let out a delighted little squeal when the cat snuggled against his legs and pressed its head against his hand. Geralt crossed his arms and watched in amusement as Jaskier began talking in a high-pitched voice to the cat. "Geralt," Jaskier whispered so as not to spook the cat. "Come here. Her fur is so soft!" Geralt shook his head, refusing to close the distance between himself and the cat. A warm fuzzy feeling spread through his chest as he watched Jaskier continue to pet the cat. Geralt would be damned before he got any closer and chased the cat away or accidentally agitated it enough for it to scratch Jaskier. Jaskier's face twisted into a frown. "Why not? You don't like cats?" he asked almost in accusation. "Got scratched by one as a child? I'd have thought that a big strong witcher like you wouldn't be scared of a little paw with claws." Geralt's lips twitched at Jaskier's teasing tone. "Never got close enough to get scratched. Cats don't like witchers. They run away." Jaskier's amused smile turned into a look of disproportionate pity. "Are you telling me you never got to pet a cat either?" Geralt shrugged. "Not since becoming a witcher. Don't really remember if I ever did before." "But that's so unfair!" Jaskier's eyes widened. "You deserve to pet a cat. Everyone does. They are just so pretty. Cats have the prettiest eyes. When the pupils go all round that's the most adorable thing." Jaskier's voice softened and his voice took on a dreamy note. "And they are such a lovely shade of yellow. Or gold. Like the sun. Or like dandelions." Geralt suppressed a snort. It wasn't Jaskier's fault that he didn't realise the cat still begging for his attention had green eyes. After all it was dark and Jaskier was more than a little drunk. For a long moment Jaskier just looked at Geralt as if he had forgotten what he had wanted to say, before finally sighing, "I just really like those eyes, Geralt. And the hair looks so soft and I just want to bury my fingers in it. And maybe braid it." This time Geralt couldn't stop himself from snorting. "Jaskier, you are already petting the cat. And I think its fur is a bit too short for braiding. It might scratch you if you tried." Jaskier let out a longsuffering sigh and gave Geralt a look so pitiful as if the weight of the world was baring down on him. "I know. 's why I don't do it. Wouldn't want me to. But I really want to." Not knowing what to say to that, Geralt just grunted. Suddenly Jaskier perked up again. "We need to get back to our room!" he announced with unexpected urgency. "If you can't pet the cat then you can cuddle with Friend instead." Geralt blinked at him, his heart refusing to beat a normal rhythm. "What?" Jaskier didn't give any explanation, just jumped to his feet, grabbed Geralt's hand and dragged him in the direction of the inn - or rather, he stumbled next to Geralt while Geralt led him to their destination. Geralt knew that Jaskier couldn't possibly mean what Geralt so desperately wanted him to mean, but that knowledge didn't stop the irrational disappointment that clawed into his chest when Jaskier let go of his hand as soon as they reached the inn and made no move to take it again. Once in their room, Jaskier began frantically searching through his bags before he finally let out a triumphant shout. "Ah-ha! There he is! Friend!" He turned around with a blinding smile and presented to Geralt what he had been looking for. It was the wooden sheep. The bitter disappointment from before was replaced by a wave of fondness for Jaskier that made his heart feel as if it would beat out of his chest.

“You called it Friend?”

“Of course,” Jaskier beamed, “Because that’s what he is.”

When Geralt still made no move to take the sheep, Jaskier wiggled it in his hand, as if tempting a cat to come play. "Take it," he insisted, brimming with excitement. "It's a sheep! All fluffy and cuddly and petting it makes me happy. I want you to be happy." Geralt did nothing to fight the warm smile, abandoning the thought of pointing out that the wooden sheep very much wasn't fluffy. Carefully, Geralt reached out and took the sheep from Jaskier. Jaskier's face lit up as if Geralt had just given him the best gift despite being the one who had been given something. As Geralt ran his fingers over the smooth wood he couldn't help but think about ways he could actually make this sheep fluffy for Jaskier. Maybe the next time they came across a shepherd Geralt could take some of the wool and attach it to the wooden sheep? But for now Jaskier seemed to be more than happy with Geralt's gifts just as they were. When Jaskier let himself fall onto the bed, a pleased expression on his face and snuggling into the pillow, he whispered, "If I'm going to get another gift I would really like for it to be a cat." His words got muffled by the blanket he pulled up to his face. "So you can have a little cat-friend too." Geralt hummed in agreement and joined Jaskier on the bed, though what he really wanted to say was that he didn't need a cat-friend as long as he had Jaskier as his friend. But he couldn't say such things. Especially not while they were sharing a bed and Jaskier kept looking at him with his sleepy blue eyes. Despite Jaskier's earlier yawns and the way he didn't seem to be able to keep his eyes open for longer than a couple of seconds, Jaskier didn't immediately drift off to sleep. Instead he kept studying Geralt's face and began playing with the ends of Geralt's hair that lay on the pillow between them. Geralt didn't have the heart to tell him off for tying a myriad of tiny knots into his hair. He could almost pretend they were braids. -- Not a week later Jaskier found a wooden figure in form of a cat curled into itself. It was impossible to tell if Jaskier remembered what he had said about cats or anything else that had happened that night, but there was no doubt that Jaskier already loved the figure just as much as he did the other ones. Immediately he handed it to Geralt, insisting that he should feel the satisfying smoothness of the wood. More to distract himself from the tight feeling in his chest than out of actual curiosity, Geralt asked for the cat's name. "I don't know. It has to be something nice," Jaskier said. "Something beautiful." He studied the cat in contemplation and uncharacteristically silence. Geralt's heart skipped a beat when Jaskier finally looked up at him with an achingly soft expression and said, "Golden Eyes."

--

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[peterbparkerth]

The Cloaked Rose ~Chapter 2~

Summary: What happens when a Psychic Nexus who feels anybody’s energy comes in contact with the Avengers but most importantly someone she thought she’ll never find.

Warnings: none I think.

Bucky X OC!Character

Avengers X Platonic!Character

A/N: The main character’s personality is based on myself and she’s not like Wanda just imagine the main character to be a different type of nexus and Wanda being just a witch not a nexus. Also it starts after Thanos dies meaning the falcon and winter soldier time but Tony and the rest are alive and Steve is a Nomad but the government is okay with him since He gave the shield to Sam. John Walker aka the US agent still exists but he’s on the down low. Loki is also an avenger now so chill.

Chapter 2

Alara’s POV

It has been two weeks since I moved in with the avengers and I can’t believe they’re way different than what they show people. Natasha had told me that she would be my training partner for a long time and we have grown close since then.

I had also grown close with others as Tony is usually the one who makes me laugh with his witty sense of humor and Steve gives me advice on any matter. Everyone is used to me now, everyone except James Buchanan Barnes. I have no clue as to what I did that made him despise me.

We were sitting in the lounge just doing normal stuff, when Tony spoke “alright avengers we have a mission, but only Sam Bucky and Alara are going.” he said. I spit the water from my mouth making everyone look at me, “I’m not going with Bucky, that old man hates me” I said and immediately Bucky spoke up “I’m not an old man, and I don’t wanna go with her either”.

Steve looked at Bucky signaling him to go while Wanda walked towards me and said “it’s alright Alara it’s just a few days and i will be here if you ever wanna call”. I smile at her and excused myself to get my bags packed.

A while later we were on the plane to an encrypted location and Bucky was arguing with Sam about having a plan, only for Sam to jump out without saying a word. That boy is on another level. Bucky was taking sometime to jump out of the plane so as soon as he ripped of his sleeve I pushed him out and heard him yell “I hate you Alara” making me laugh I jumped out of the plane but instead of falling, I use my power of flight making both Sam and Bucky confused.

“Yeah I can fly” I said and walked ahead of them. Bucky used his super speed to run to the building. Sam and him kept on bickering as I rolled my eyes and said “there are seven people and one hostage now we need a plan to save the person held hostage” Bucky sighed “yeah leave it up to me” he said as he ran faster than Sam and I would.

It turns out the hostage was the part of the group , she kicked Bucky out through the door: I smirked when I saw it happen. Bucky was being beaten up when I decided to have some fun.

I finally jumped on top of the truck and let my powers flow out of me. The orange beams got on my body as I finally showed my true self. Bucky looked at me and I saw a smile on his face as if he was proud of me.

During the fight Sam and Bucky were kicked out of the truck as the US agent came to the spot. Somehow Sam and Bucky hated John and I had no clue why until when we sat in his vehicle and he looked at me and said “miss you should join in with the best people here” and then touched my thigh. I grabbed him by his neck and punched him twice before Sam stopped me “Don’t you ever touch me again, you pathetic piece of a human” I said to Walker.

He looked terrified and I flew off with Sam and Bucky following me from down low. “They’re super soldiers guys” I shouted at them from above and Sam let us to a hotel room that Tony paid for us to stay at. Well let’s just say it was more of a suit than a room.

“We need to go to Madripoor” I heard Sam say as he ended his phone call. “Who was that?” Bucky asked and Sam replied “Sharon. She knows about people who would do such a thing”. Bucky looked at me and said “since when do you glow like a carrot” I rolled my eyes and replied “since hydra experimented on me and gave me powers that are unimaginable” “like what?” Sam suddenly asked, “I can open portals to other dimensions, I got my powers from Loki’s tassaract.” I clarified. They both looked amused and I chuckled at their reaction.

We came up with a plan till late when Sam told us to rest. Later that night I couldn’t sleep so I went to get something from the kitchen like area in the suite when I saw Bucky drinking a shot of tequila, he looked at me and smiled “got thirsty for something” he said and smirked “Ew no, I’m just hungry” I replied and searched for food.

I heard him take a deep breath and say “you know I don’t hate you” I looked at him confused “then why do you always treat me like you hate me?” I ask. He took the food plate from my hands and say “that’s because, something is drawing me towards you and I don’t want to hurt y-“.

I stopped him and quickly said “hurt me? You can never hurt me Bucky” he was so close to me that I could smell his perfume or odour if you can say. “Bucky, I trust you” I added, he looked at me and leaned down a bit to kiss my head, something I never expected to happen as I touch his dog tags . “Sleep Alara, we have a mission to complete” he said “Bucky I-” I said but he had already walked away from me.

I’m starting to like the mission we’re all on.

Bucky’s POV

The next morning when I woke up, I couldn’t shake away the memory of kissing Alara’s forehead. I had grown to like her a bit, she’s cool you know.

We were on our way to Madripoor when Sam said that Sharon told us to meet Shelby at a club. “You sure it’s a good idea” I say to Sam as we go to the bartender and ask him about Shelby. “You’re not welcome here” the bartender said. Alara groaned and just then a man grabbed her by the shoulder. “Let her go!” I said as I grabbed his hand and kicked him across the room. “Stop it Bucky!” I hear Alara say but I couldn’t as more men try to fight.

“Okay stop! Shelby will see you now” the bartender said I looked at Bucky and held his metal hand leading him behind Sam.

“Well well” I hear Shelby say as she sat on the sofa. “We want to know about the super soldier serum” I hear Alara say. “You need to go to Professor Negal, but since now-“ Shelby almost said something but someone shot her. I quickly grabbed Alara’s hand and ran out the club, with Sam following us behind. We were saved by Sharon who shot the men from a far.

“Sharon?” Sam said surprised, Sharon looked around before replying “follow me guys” and we nodded. She led us to her house, “how are you here Sharon?” I ask her “I stayed here after a mission I was given” she replied and got up “so I heard you wanted to know about Professor Nagel, I’m having a party tonight and I’ll find out about him. You guys get dressed” she added

Two hours later I hear the music playing out loud and then I spot Alara in a red dress dancing around in the crowd. Sam looked at me and smirked, I rolled my eyes and walked towards her “Alara you need to stop” I tell her. “No” I hear her say and she push me away.

I saw her pull a man towards her as she danced quite provocatively. I clenched my jaw as something took over me, I walked to her again but this time I pulled her away from the man and pulled her closer to me. I placed my arms around her and danced with her. She looked up at me surprised and smiled. I looked into her eyes seeing an orange spark, I let go of my body as I slowly leaned in close to her. “Bucky” I hear Sharon say and we both look at her at the same time “I have found where Nagel is” she adds and we along with Sam follow her.

I can’t believe what I was about to do

Taglist

@httpscarletwitch @madisondelstan

P.S this is what Alara looked like when she revealed her powers to Sam and Bucky. It’s orange beam unlike Captain Marvel who emits yellow beam

[a-libra-writes]

A Dragon’s Fire - Daenerys x Red Priestess!Reader

heyo! this was requested by an anon who originally wanted an assassin w fire magic, and i compromised w a red priestess who was an assassin but decided not to hurt dany (bc that seems neat!) but ive been in the shit this week so ... i wrote something fluffy instead. I know, im a big fail, lol. I hope yall enjoy it anyway

Summary: Dany has a big gay crush. That’s it, that’s the fic

“Is she everything you hoped for?”

Y/N did not answer the man behind her. She focused on the flames in front of her, dancing in the brazier into familiar shapes. She had seen them for many years. It’s why she was chosen by the priests, and since the red comet fell from the sky, they whispered if she listened close. Here, in the dragon queen’s palace, she could hear the fire inside the dragons. 

The bear knight’s metal armor and annoyed tone was not enough to distract her. Y/N reached her hand into the fire, it shaped into a dragon that sat in her palm. She didn’t feel the fire, but her red silk sleeve was burning. 

Jorah disliked her silence, but he disliked many things about Y/N. When he first saw her fire tricks, he thought they were illusions, but the heat of them said otherwise. Then there was the first time she set upon Drogon…

He suppressed his shiver and set that memory aside. “The khaleesi wants to see you.”

Y/N closed her palm, and the dragon slivered out, flying back into the brazier. The flames glowed blue for just a fraction of a second. She waved her hand over them, and the fire smothered itself. Smoke rose out of the hot coals, but those too began to rapidly cool. 

She wondered if the knight was still unsettled by her magic. Even the khaleesi had moments of awe and uneasiness, although she was fond of watching. Y/N stood, her silk robes gently scraping the marble floor. Jorah was already walking away, and she made no effort to run to catch up to him. She knew where Daenerys was.

The chambers Daenerys set aside for her council was well-lit and had an impressive, engraved table at the center of it. Its legs used to be harpies made of carved marble and ivory, but she had them removed for dragons made of onyx and rubies. Y/N liked the change, and how they glittered in the light. Perhaps she was biased - her own ruby hung around her neck, although it was far larger and smoother than any gemstone Daenerys had seen before.

The girl’s purple eyes lit up as Y/N entered the room. Y/N couldn’t help but return the sentiment, giving her khaleesi a smile. She was pleased there was no one else in the council room. “You wished to see me, khaleesi?”

“Yes. Jorah, you may leave us.”

Jorah didn’t protest, but he did shoot Y/N a look before he left the room and closed the doors. Y/N noticed there were no Unsullied in the chambers, either.

“I talked to him about what he said the other day,” Daenerys said after a moment of silence. “Ser Barristan, as well. They don’t … In the Seven Kingdoms, your sort of magic is seen as a dream. Unreal.”

“As unreal as dragons?” Y/N tilted her head, and Daenerys tried not to focus on how her hair slid across her bare shoulders. When Y/N first entered her service, she wore modest robes that covered nearly every inch of her. Since then she had adopted a more elegant, free style, at Daenerys’ subtle suggestion. She was pleased with the result. 

Daenerys set her thoughts straight. “True. The reason I called you here was to locate Rhaegal. I haven’t seen him flying overhead in some time.”

“Nor have I.” Y/N touched the ruby that dangled by her collarbone. It was held with a simple gold chain, and anyone could have missed the way it seemed to flicker. It could have been a trick of the light, but Dany knew otherwise. “Would you like me to find him?”

Of course Y/N knew how to do that. She knew how to start and stop fire, how to dream about it, how to see into it. It was only logic that she could find it. She once told Daenerys that the dragons were beings of fire, swirling and living heat. She looked at them like …

… Well, not how others looked at them. It was hard to puzzle out Y/N’s expressions and thoughts. You could ask her something directly, and she’d have some sort of strange answer, or she’d just stay quiet. Daenerys could tell when Y/N was thinking something over, at least. Her pretty eyes would lower, and she’d touch that ruby - was it hot to the touch? It seemed like it - and she would be gone. Sometimes she stayed very still for hours, staring into fire, or staring into nothing.

But she’d always have an answer eventually.

Daenerys’ knights warned against Y/N’s counsel, telling her not to listen too closely to the words of a strange woman of a strange religion. Even Missandei had commented on the followers of Rhllor’s intent to convert King Robert and other places, and the strange magics they could possess. They warned her as if she did not know how to think for herself.

It upset her, but Y/N took such words in stride. She often seemed to know what others thought and said about her, and she did little to stop it. Missandei had warmed to her, Ser Barristan did not think she was any real threat, but Ser Jorah remained unconvinced and wary. Grey Worm did not like talk of magic or priests, but he had no real ill thought of Y/N, and Daario liked to ask her all sorts of ridiculous questions for his own amusement. 

“I have found him, khaleesi.”

Daenerys couldn’t believe her thoughts had drifted again. Y/N often had that effect on her. “Where? Can we ride to him?”

“We could. He is in no danger, he is simply occupied with…” A soft smile came to Y/N’s red lips. “Something he has not seen before. That’s why he’s been away.”

“What could possibly interest him for that long? He’s been gone for days.”

“Shall we find out, your grace?”

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah would warm her against this, ask her to take one of them or the Unsullied on the trip. Grey Worm would ask to escort them, Missandei would worry and send guards after them anyway. Daario would want to come along. Daenerys looked to the open, blue sky. There was still plenty of sun left.

“Let’s be quick,” She said, already giddy even if they hadn’t stepped a foot outside of the palace yet. “Missandei will keep them busy. Do you want to share my horse?”

Y/N was not an adept rider, but she still said, “That is alright, khaleesi. I can ride my own.”

Daenerys tried not to feel disappointed.

The danger outside the protective walls of Meereen was real, but Daenerys comforted herself with the fact that Drogon and Viserion often flew about these hills, and no one had seen them leave. Y/N said it would not take long, that they’d return toward the end of sunset.

Why do I keep believing her? Daenerys asked herself. She glanced aside, watching the woman reposition her reins. Her normally serene facade was broken everytime she rode a horse. She was not afraid of the creatures, but she had only recently learned to ride, and the beasts weren’t always fond of her.

“If you keep moving like that, you’ll make him nervous,” Daenerys said. “There’s no need to clutch the reins so tightly, either.”

Y/N nodded, and tried to relax her posture. Luckily, she picked an agreeable horse. Daenerys recalled the saddle sores and aches she received when she learned to ride. Her handmaidens gave her a balm to ease the pain. Maybe she could find that for Y/N.

I’ll ask someone to deliver it to her. I couldn’t give it to her myself - no, who says I can’t? But what would she think…

It was hard to tell exactly what Y/N was thinking, but sometimes she slipped, like now. Her brows were slightly furrowed as she righted her posture, and once she was satisfied with it, she kept glancing down at the ground, or at the horse’s ears. Y/N pet his soft neck, then slowly reached up to scratch between his ears. She jerked her hand back as her horse shook his head and made an annoyed sound.

“He didn’t like that,” Daenerys laughed, and it was adorable how Y/N gently laughed, too. She was usually so subdued, so quiet, so … what Daenerys used to be. 

“But his ears are so cute,” Y/N went back to petting his neck, which he much preferred. “Doesn’t it make you think of a cat.”

“No, not at all.” 

“Not even a little? There were some strays I’d feed at the temple. Their ears would twitch when I came by. They could smell the food in my pockets.”

Sometimes Y/N would speak of the temple she grew up in, or the other Free Cities she had travelled to, the friends she had known. Perhaps if she showed this side to the others, they would trust her more, but Daenerys was happy to have it to herself. 

The grass thinned and made way for rocky hills and in the distance, orange and yellow canyons. The sun was beginning its descent, and soon the sky would match those oranges and yellows. Y/N stopped her horse. 

“We can walk from here. Do you hear him?”

Daenerys stopped her own horse and listened. There was the slightest breeze, some distant bird calling, the sound of her horse’s nicker and … 

She shook her head. “If he’s close, we would have heard him by now.”

Y/N dismounted with some inelegance, but she fixed her clothes and just smiled. “Maybe you will when we get closer.”

They tied the horses to one of the few trees in the dry area, and Daenerys followed Y/N’s lead. 

It could be a trap. She could have men waiting there, or there could have been someone following us …

The thought was fleeting, and Daenerys fell in beside her. They both changed to more practical clothing, but Y/N still had a shimmering red cloak tied around her shoulders. As they walked, Daenerys began to hear something strange. It was faint, but as they came closer…

“Water?” She looked at Y/N.

Y/N’s sweet lips curled upward. She often smelled of smoke and spice, and Daenerys wondered if she tasted that way, too. 

They came to the edge of a small canyon, which could be better described as a deep ravine. Water glistened at the bottom of it, and more importantly, the deep green scales of her dear Rhaegal. He lifted his wings high and water spilled on his back.

“What is he doing?” Daenerys asked, but she was answered just a moment later. Water spewed up from the ground in a huge geyser, all at once, and Rhaegal happily opened his mouth and snapped at it. The water fell in thick droplets all around the dragon, the ravine and the two of them.

Y/N pulled her red hood over her head. Daenerys wiped her brow. “You didn’t tell me to pack a hood.”

“Apologies, khaleesi.” Y/N giggled. She peered downward. “If we’re steady, we can walk down to him.”

Rhaegal’s long tail lazily swung back and forth in the water. He was resting, and it only submerged his arms and legs, but he was content. Daenerys noticed all the charred bones scattered around the ravine. She wondered how much was in the water. Her feet found stability, and she carefully followed a natural, steadying path downward. Y/N was just ahead, although she wasn’t as confident in her descent.

They came to a small landing and had to stop there. The rest of the way was simply too steep. Rhaegal seemed to just notice them then, and Daenerys’ heart swelled as her child lifted his head and gazed at her with his sharp eyes. They weren’t merely brown, but bronze, with all the steadiness and strength that metal held. She touched his nose and muzzle, marvelling at how much he had grown. 

His eyes quickly flashed toward Y/N, and Daenerys felt his growl vibrate underneath her hand. She frowned and quickly said, “No.”

She remembered Y/N’s first encounter with Drogon. That was also the day she had taken the strange, beautiful priestess into her court.

Just like with Drogon, Y/N showed no fear. She stepped forward, but she didn’t make an attempt to touch the dragon. She lowered her hood, and Rhaegal’s long, black pupil tightened.

Daenerys felt the heat of his breath as he snorted through his nose. She tensed, forcing herself to stay calm as she repeated her order. “No.”

The geyser blew again, and Daenerys didn’t flinch. Rhaegal watched it rise in the air, then pulled away from his mother to open his jaws at the water again. His black teeth glittered in the setting sun.

Daenerys looked to Y/N. The priestess was so calm and steady, so unaffected … except Dany caught how her shoulders sagged in relief.

“He isn’t like Drogon,” Daenerys said, remembering that day. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Y/N replied simply. “Drogon did not hurt me.” 

Had you been any other woman, he would have killed you. Except ... 

It took days for the servants to remove the char marks on the marble, and some of the melted pillars were still being repaired. Daenerys was half tempted to leave them like that, as a warning to any potential enemies, but it was unsettling to think it may have been Y/N that was burned away.

Except, she didn’t. Her red robes and long hair did, but her necklace and body remained unharmed. Daenerys and her court watched as the fire arced around her, singing away everything but skin and metal, and that ruby she never removed. Y/N looked Drogon straight in the eyes, even as they were obscured by his fire. 

His temper always was the worst. She had done nothing but approach Daenerys too quickly. Jorah was the one who pulled her back behind one of the pillars, and Daenerys remembered how the heat licked her arms as it tried to reach around the marble. Daario had pulled Missandei to cover behind the other pillar. 

Drogon almost never came to the palace, he always wanted to be in the sky, yet he came down on that day. And when the fire cleared and the floor was charred black except for a small circle … He stood back, and Y/N still looked at him. She only trembled slightly. 

She isn’t any other woman.

The geyser blew again, and rained down upon them. The water’s heat didn’t bother her, but all the dust from the ride was stuck to her skin, and the water didn’t clean it off. She had dust in her hair, too, and probably some stray pieces of grass. 

She smiled. It had been some time since she was properly dirty after a ride, and she looked forward to a perfumed bath and brushing her hair when she got back. Daenerys glanced to Y/N, who was occupied with watching Rhaegal. She also had dirt on her cheeks and neck, and some in her hair, and maybe if she wanted a bath afterward, too…

Daenerys reached forward and tried to rub some of the dirt off her cheeks. It didn’t work, but Y/N’s pretty eyes went wide. She didn’t pull away. “Khaleesi?”

Daenerys stepped forward, gently moving her palm so she had Y/N’s whole cheek. Just as she thought - as she dreamed? - the priestess’ skin was flushed and warmer than anyone she’d touched before. 

“You can say my name,” Daenerys said. She tried to tease, but her beating heart and their closeness made her breath catch. She thought Y/N was wearing color on her lips, but perhaps they just always looked like that? 

“Daenerys.” Y/N tried it out, and the dragon queen felt like a girl again, feeling her heart soar at hearing her name on those lips. She leaned in, bringing Y/N closer to her. Their foreheads brushed, and the warmth between them turned to heat.

A piercing roar broke through the sky, and cut straight between them. Daenerys recognized the sound at once, and it distracted her as Y/N jumped away. The woman’s cheeks were as red as her cloak.

Above them, Viserion broke through the clouds and bellowed down at his brother. The first cry was for Daenerys, and the second was probably a command for Rhaegal to move aside. The green dragon made room for his brother, and the water reached the top of the ravine as Viserion splashed straight into it. Y/N pulled Daenerys back before the muddy water could splash all over them.

Daenerys was far too overheated and flustered, and the sight of her children amusing themselves only gave her a little relief. At least Rhaegal was alright. 

Y/N had pulled her hood back down, and it was a shame. At least her lips were still visible through the shadow, although looking wasn’t as good as tasting.

“We’ve been gone for a long time. Let’s ride back.” Daenerys led the way out of the ravine. Y/N said nothing until they were back to the horses, who were understandably spooked from the dragon that flew overhead not fifteen minutes ago. Y/N held her horse’s reins and tried to soothe it, and Daenerys helped, touching the priestess’ hands perhaps more than was needed. 

Y/N didn’t pull away, and that gave Daenerys the courage to kiss her cheek. The soft dyed linen brushed her own cheek, and she caught a whiff of perfume.

The priestess giggled, and it was a better relief than the breeze that was slowly blowing across the hills. “Please, Daenerys. I’m covered in dust.”

“I am, too. Let’s wash up when we ride back - together?”

She caught Y/N’s bright eyes under the hood, and they sparkled as she blushed and tugged the hood further down. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

So it was decided. By the time they reached the gates of Meereen and entered the Great Pyramid, Y/N had dropped her hood and her easy, serene face had returned. She disregarded the suspicious looks, she gave an easy nod to Missandei, who returned a tentative smile. As far as anyone knew, Y/N’s mind was wrapped in her usual visions and prayers.

Until Daenerys brushed her dirty hair aside and smiled at her, then Y/N’s cheeks blushed and her eyes widened in that adorable way. She let the khaleesi take her hand, entwine their fingers, and guide her to the great baths. Y/N’s red cloak fluttered behind her, drawing attention to them. Some Unsullied guards probably saw, and surely others, but Daenerys didn’t care. 

She’s like fire, and I am a dragon - how could she bring any harm to me?

[buglife]

Bend and Not Break - Ch 2: A Mission

Read here on AO3 :3

Monomon hurried as fast as she could possibly float to the palace, dodging various bugs and leaving the archive in a state of chaos. She didn’t even have time to tell anyone what was happening, just that she needed to leave and leave now. The messenger bug had delivered a letter with only a few sentences that stirred her into motion and sent her moving.

[Assassination attempt. Quirrel has been poisoned. Please hurry. - Ghost]

Poisoned? She figured they would tell her more details once she arrived, but it must have been serious. Pillbugs were notoriously resistant to toxins, at least, she knew that. She had to know since she worked with dangerous chemicals and suddenly had a baby isopod to care for. If it was public knowledge or not, she wasn’t so sure.

So either assassins figured out something strong enough to threaten the life of a pillbug, or they didn’t know and used something that her son could eventually beat on his own. She wouldn’t know until she found out.

Luckily when she arrived, the guard have known her long enough to just let her pass. The palace itself was in a state of lock-down, but she was so recognizable that she got through fast enough. To be honest, if they stopped her in any way, she wouldn’t hesitate to throw said guard around to make a path herself. The bedroom door was currently being guarded by Cloth and Ogrim, who gave her pained looks as they let her inside. They were Quirrel’s friends, and she was comforted slightly to know that they too were worried.

The atmosphere of the room was tense and thick. It was silent, save for the labored wheezing breaths of her son as he struggled to take in enough air. Ghost was sitting next to the nest, holding his trembling hand in theirs, occasionally reaching their head down to nuzzle his mask-less face. Another hand was being used to refresh a cooling enchantment on a wad of cloth, applying it to his head to hopefully bring their spouse a bit of relief. Quirrel looked to be in a bad way, trembling uncontrollably as Ghost did their best to try and soothe him, but it didn’t seem to be working. They finally turned their head after a while to look at her. She wasn’t all that shocked to see tears in the corners of their eyes, dripping long enough to leave long dark streaks on their face.

“Monomon…” Their ‘voice’ was desperate and afraid. “I don’t know what to do.”

She swallowed down a spike of emotion. It would not help here to suddenly lose herself to the rage and despair she felt at seeing her son in such a terrible state. “What happened?”

“There was an attempt on our lives. The ones involved are in the dungeon, but they had poisoned nails. One of them managed to cut him, here.” They moved a cover out of the way to reveal his bandaged side. The bandage was stained blue and faint hints of yellow. Already Monomon’s mind was racing through what could possibly match both the symptoms and the color.

“They managed to harm some civilians, none of the ones that were cut with the nails survived.”

“I see.” Her voice was soft. “Did you bring in any doctors?”

They shook their head. “No, I cannot trust any to try and not finish the job until the Knights have finished investigating.”

“A wise choice.” She floated over to lay a tentacle on the side of her son’s head. It was burning with fever and she winced. “Has he woken up at all?”

Another head shake in response.

Quirrel turned their head towards the tentacle on his head and mumbled something incoherent. She remembered the times when he had gotten sick before, when he was still so very small and fragile. She figured it was due to him being abandoned, and not getting the best start in life. She had carried him around in a makeshift pouch so that he would always know that he wasn’t going to be abandoned again. The times she sat up all night to apply a cool cloth to his head or fed him broth a teaspoon at a time drifted through her mind as she regarded her adult son, currently suffering. He made a sickly wheeze as she reached down her face to tenderly kiss his burning forehead.

She didn't know if he was aware or not, if he could tell he was surrounded by people that loved him, but she hoped he did.

“How much do you know about pillbug biology?”

Ghost seemed startled by the question. “Quite a bit, I would figure? He loves to lecture.”

“I know, but did he tell you about the resistances pillbugs have to toxins?”

They shook their head, looking back at their ill spouse with surprise.

Monomon knew that Ghost did not want or need a lecture right now, so she’ll keep it short and sweet. “Pillbugs are remarkably resistant to most things that would poison any other bug. Heavy metals, deadly plants, and even pollution. They have evolved to eek out nutrition from even the most terrible of sources and thrive where others can’t.”

“Does that mean he will be okay?” There was hope in that voice, and Monomon did her best to answer in a way to not completely squash it.

“It means that the odds are in his favor. He may come out of this by himself, but the chances increase dramatically if we somehow got a hold of a countermeasure, an antidote per-say. It will at least ease his pain.”

“How do you find such a thing? I don’t think the prisoners will want to talk.”

“Don’t worry, I have my ways. I will just need space for a lab an-”

“Whatever you want you will get.” They interrupted her. “Talk to Xena and Tiso, they are in the dungeons.”

“Good, then let us not waste any time.” She took one last moment to tuck in Quirrel a little more and try to make him more comfortable. It hurt her so much to see this, and she wanted nothing more to do that to stay here and care for him like she did so long ago. But, she had a job to do and a job that needed to be done quickly.

She turned and left, heading to the dungeons. The last thing she saw as the bedroom door shut was Ghost leaning back in to nuzzle Quirrel, practically climbing into the nest to hold him. She didn’t know of anyone safer for him to be around than his spouse, so with a renewed sense of hope and determination, she floated down the stairs. She had a job to do.

------

Quirrel didn't quite know what was happening. He had been with...someone, doing something out in the Capital. It was something important, at least, he thought it was. There were flashes of steel and colors and sounds and then a deep sickening pain before it went all black.

It had hurt. It felt like his lungs and heart were being squeezed in an iron fist. Thoughts became fractures of pain that kept shooting up to heights he didn’t think possible. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore, he had found himself somewhere else. He could feel and not feel, his numb body standing in the Fog Canyon and wondered how he got here.

Swatches of red streamed in through the mist to illuminate a facsimile of the Archives. He was standing outside of it, parts of the building floating off and smudging together. He couldn’t stare at it too long without getting a headache. He couldn’t even read the sign, the letters sliding together and twisting as he puzzled this development. There was a distinct lack of oomas and uomas, which tipped him off that something was very wrong.

He just couldn’t put a finger on it.

He would have been afraid, but there was something out there that seemed to give him strength. It was warm and heavy and he wore the feeling around him like a cloak on a cold day. It bolstered his spirit and he felt like he could face anything.

It was a strange sensation, it felt like there was a room full of people that were invisible. He tried to think on who they were, but he got only fragments of feelings and pictures that didn’t quite fit together. He figured it was best to not dwell on it, there was bound to be someone around that could help him.

He decided to just go inside. There was someone there that he knew that could tell him what was going on. He couldn’t think of the name, but he knew it was soft and green and filled him up with love. Again, faint feelings tickled the back of his mind, but he couldn’t figure out how to process it all. He approached the doors, which opened for him, and he walked inside.

The doors shut behind him and smudged together, fading off into nothing.

------

It sucked being in prison. The cricket leaned back on the stone wall in his cell, occasionally glancing at their missing arm. It stung and ached, and none of the guard or knights gave them anything for the pain. It wasn’t like he expected any, with the kingdom being lead by a monster and a traitor. By now it would just be the monster, he didn’t suspect the traitor would still be alive by now. Good riddance.

He didn’t quite know how long he was down here in his cell. Hours? He didn’t know. He was given water once and that was that, so it was impossible to hash out a timeline from that alone.

The door to the dungeons creaked open, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was probably time for him to die now. He knew what he was getting into when he volunteered for the mission. He just hoped that his death wouldn’t be in vain, and that his fellow bugs were closer to freedom.

His musings were interrupted when quiet footsteps approached his cell. What arrived was something he very much did not want to see.

Hollow the Kind, the sibling of the god king, stared at him with its one eye. It was deathly silent and its body was still as a statue. It was also a monster to him, the failed remnants of the previous god king’s folly. A vessel that was supposed to be completely hollow to hold the wrath of an angry goddess within that ultimately failed. It was dangerous and rarely that far away from its sibling, and for that reason he felt a pit of fear bloom in his chest. It continued to stare, narrowing its eye that seemed to look deep within his mind and soul, and he didn’t like that.

“The hell are you doing here? Here to finally kill me?”

The creature did not respond.

He was about to say something else when the vessel pulled out a key and opened the cell door. He knew he wouldn’t be able to escape, the vessel is fast and he doubted he’d get far. He still was going to make things hard on it though. Just when he was about to thrash around, it moved with frightening speed and grabbed him by the neck.

He gasped and tried to flail about, but with shackles on his legs and arm, he didn’t succeed in doing much. The prosthetic arm the creature had was hard and cold and he could feel the power in the mechanism. He couldn’t fight the grip as it pulled up to its full, terrifying height. It began to walk, and he was powerless to resist. He was being carried down a hall and it stopped in front of the door.

While Hollow was busy, Monomon was at work. She hummed to herself as she busied herself with her tools. Syringes, some vials of various components, and other odds and ends crowded the table. In a box on the floor held the nails of the assassins, now sterilized and deemed safe. The dried poison on the blades however, had been carefully extracted and reconstituted in another vial. She had taken the time to study it as her guest got ready to arrive. It was quite interesting, it was quite complex and she had trouble pin pointing the exact compounds. She could at least recognize a neurotoxin when she saw one and once again had to squash down her anger.

It was time for science.

The door to her makeshift lab opened and she turned her head just in time to see Hollow drag one of the prisoners inside. Actually, it was more like how one would scruff an unruly frog, as Hollow held him by the back of his neck so he had no chance of escape. “Let me go, you monster!” He shrieked, his single arm and pair of legs waving in the air and gaining no traction.

Hollow ignored them and all but threw the prisoner into the specially prepared chair. It was a padded chair on a swivel, with a thick metal bar on the end where someone’s legs would sit. Both that and the arms of the chair held several straps, and Hollow made quick work of immobilizing the prisoner. He grunted and wiggled against the straps, but to no avail.

“Wonderful!” Monomon clasped two of her tentacles together. “Thank you, Hollow dear, for bringing me the first of my very special guests!”

Hollow bowed his head to her politely. <”I will be outside”>, they signed.

“That won’t be necessary. There isn’t a single thing this worm can do to me,” She cheerfully responded. “This may take a while, why don’t you go up and check on your sibling? They could use a friendly face right now. Someone else can watch the prisoners for now.”

They glanced at the cricket strapped to the chair and seemed To mull over the suggestion in their head. Finally, they nodded and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind them. The prisoner watched them leave and turned back to Monomon with a sneer.

“So, you’re going to torture me? Make me talk? Good luck, I’m not saying anything.” He huffed, having the audacity to sound bored.

“Oh no, torture has never been a suitable method of information extraction,” She informed him as she prepared a syringe. “This however, is science, pure and simple. If you don’t want to tell me what was in that poison and how to counter act it, then I’ll just have to figure it out myself. You get to be the very first volunteer to help me find that out! Isn’t that exciting?”

“You’re insane.” The cricket watched in dawning horror as she dipped the needle into the vial of poison, drawing a minuscule amount. “Why do you want to even save a traitor? He’s tainted by the monster! He’ll bring us down to ruin just like any other god and their allies!”

“Because, my dear boy.” She tapped the syringe to expel any bubbles in the glass. “That traitor, that you so call him, is my son.”

The seemed to throw the prisoner for a loop, and his mandibles that weren’t broken were open in shock.

She floated over, grabbing a little pad of cloth and alcohol, and began to clean the joint in his remaining arm where the chitin was the thinnest. It would not due to skip on protocol. “Oh yes, you and your ilk thought you were clever, trying to poison a bug that used to eat arsenic to freak out my students. You won’t be able to kill him this way, but he is suffering, and I do not like to see my son in pain.”

“Wait...wait!” The cricket tried to wiggle, but was helpless to resist as he watched the syringe come closer and closer to his arm.

“This was never to get you to talk.” She didn’t pause, plunging in the syringe and injecting it’s contents. “Like I said before, torture is useless. Science however, doesn’t lie, and I will get my answers, one way or another.”

His screams were wonderful as she pulled out some paper to take notes. What a fascinating reaction! She wondered what would happen if she added just a teeny bit of acid to the next injection.

You know, for science.

------

Tiso lounged in his chair, not bothered at all by the faint screaming that echoed through the dungeon. The person who was sitting directly in front of him, however, was very much bothered. The ladybug gulped audibly as they tested the ropes trying them to the chair. Tiso didn’t make things much better, humming to himself as he filled out some paperwork. He sat in silence with only the screams and the sound of quills on paper filling the cramped interrogation room.

“Wha…” The ladybug broke the silence, eyes wide. “What is that?!?”

“Monomon having fun.” He checked a few more boxes on the sheet.

“...The Teacher?”

“Yeah? Ya know, science lady?” Tiso gestured with the end of his quill. “Sounds like a lot of science is going on right now.”

“Am I…”

“Going to see her? Maybe.” Tiso leaned back and put his boots up on the table. “I doubt she’ll find what she’s lookin’ for with just one subject. She’s gonna need a few more for sure.”

“That’s crazy!” The ladybug switched from fear to anger. “You can’t do that to bugs! It’s evil!”

“You think that’s evil? Lemme tell you what’s evil. Evil is tryin’ to kill the two bugs who have done nothing except fix this broken fuckin’ kingdom.” Tiso leaned forward with a sneer. “You were there, you remembered how it was. The living dead roaming the streets, broken everything, a literal fuckin’ apocalypse. And they fixed it.”

“We’re trying to protect you all!” She scowled in return. “You were also there. You saw what happens when gods are in charge! How do we defend ourselves if our beloved ‘King’ were to suddenly decide to make our lives miserable just for fun? Or kill us all?”

“Because, they have friends, and family.” Tiso replied, leaning back again. “They are constantly reminded about how precious life is and how each action can impact them. The biggest one, being their spouse, that you lot tried to kill. And what do you think happens, when a god no longer has any ties to mortals anymore?”

The ladybug blinked.

“Yeah, I may not be the sharpest hammer in the tool box, but even I knew that!” Tiso huffed, feeling clever. “So you fucked up. I mean, colossally fucked up. If there was a book about the biggest fuck ups in history, you all would be on front page. “

She was silent.

“So here’s what you gottah do. You gottah fix this. You gottah tell me what you did, who told you to do it, and who else was in on it. You need to tell me everything. I can’t promise you anything except that I won’t give you to Monomon, but if you even wanna redeem yourself in the slightest, you’ll talk. And hurry the hell up, I got girlfriends to smooch.”

She took a deep breath and began to talk.

[zabrak-show]

The Letter | Maul x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

warnings: fluff, mention of alcohol, nudity, gender neutral reader, adopted children, mention of slavery and trauma, so fluffy and sweet dear god, I hope that it’s not too cliche, sex is suggested, but never explicit.

a/n: I wrote this because I have been really stressed lately and also have baby fever really bad. I have never done a story like this from the reader’s perspective and tbh wasn’t sure if I would ever try, but I figured why not?! I also usually only write angsty things I’ve realized, like even when I think I’m being sweet it still ends on a bad note LOL anyway, I hope someone else enjoys this please leave me hearts and feedbacks. I’m new at this and need validation hahah xoxo

~*~*~*~AU where Maul left Sidious to become a bounty hunter. Y’all lovebirds met and adopted a couple sweetie night brother babies and settle down on Dathomir to live the domestic Star Wars dream.~*~*~*

The hour was late and you were pacing around the large office in your home on Dathomir. The house was everything you could dream of for a home. It was a lovely 3 story, sprawling with more than enough rooms to make everyone happy for your family of 4. You had adopted two night brother children while your husband, Maul, had been on a mission to free them all from a life of slavery and subservience on Dathomir. After peace was established on Dathomir, you decided to settle down here for the kids and it really was a dream come true.

 You could not believe this was your life sometimes. Your husband was the most handsome man in the whole galaxy with his crimson skin, sharp facial features, and dramatic black tattoos decorating his entire body. Your two children, Zabrak boys, the older one with orange complexion and the littlest one, yellow, were sound asleep in their rooms above you. The bottom of your long black robe lightly crawled across the cool wooden floor as you made your way around the room, too restless to sleep, too tired to get anything done.

Maul had been gone three months now. He was set to return any day now and you hadn’t heard a word from him in weeks. His work was dangerous as a bounty hunter, but you had full confidence in his abilities. He was the strongest and fiercest person you’d ever met. Of course, around you and the kids was another story, but you knew the way he was raised by Sidious had led him to do some really dark things that made him more than capable of taking care of himself.

Finally, you decided to pour yourself a glass of Tevraki whiskey to help calm your nerves. You sat at the long dark wooden desk at the corner of the room and turned on the green lamp atop its surface. It was Maul’s desk and you usually never sat there to not disturb his things, but you hadn’t gone this long without seeing him since you’d been married and craved any sort of reminder of him. You ran your fingers over all the drawer pulls in a futile attempt to feel him through the things he touched repeatedly every day when he was home, noting where the wood and metal parts of the desk were more worn. You reluctantly pulled open one of the drawers. If there was one thing you weren’t, it was nosy, and you fully trusted and respected your husband’s privacy. It felt like you were being possessed by a hand not your own now opening the top drawer and seeing a small stack of papers. One folded neatly with (y/n) written on it in your husband’s handwriting. 

Oh dear, I really shouldn’t 

I mean it does have my name on it though…

No, it’s not for me to decide

Just take a small peak…

You were slowly opening the folded paper, despite the argument in your head, your hands had made up their mind and your eyes weren’t going to pretend to look away either.

My Dearest (Y/N),

I will never understand how someone so gorgeous inside and out could love a monster like me. I struggle to understand every day, sometimes I think you’d be better off without me. I am filth compared to your innocence and beauty. I look into our children’s eyes and see the same purity reflecting off their eyes. How lucky they are to have you as a parent, to learn about love, acceptance, and family. All things completely foreign to me until I met you. How can I teach the children these things, when I myself still have so much to learn?

  I get so scared, my love. Scared that I won’t be able to protect you all. Scared that I do not deserve this life. Scared that I will somehow hurt you or the children. I had my mind made up that my presence was a downfall to this family and would degrade us all into the grime and dysfunction I know all too well. I fear it is all I know and that I will always be drawn to it like a flii to bantha fodder.

Despite my fears, I can never leave you. I love you too much and I need you now more than ever. I remember once threatening to leave you before because I felt like you were better off without me. You told me that wasn’t my decision to make for you, and I don’t think I ever told you just how much that resonated with me. My whole life has been others’ making decisions for me and me being forced to go along with it. Here I was doing the same thing to you, something I never wanted you to experience. It horrified me and I pledged to do better for you, for myself, for our children.

I am so sorry you fell in love with someone as despicable as me. I wish I were not who I am. Every day I can only try to do my best and show you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I wish I could give the entire galaxy to you, for us to both rule and unite. I know that is not what you want, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still day dream about it sometimes.

I don’t think I will ever be brave enough to give you this letter, but it has been a good feeling for me to get these feelings out somehow without using violence.

                                      Yours forever and always,

                                                       Maul

You held the note to your chest and held back tears, finally succumbing to them and just letting yourself cry. Hot tears rolled down your face, you were overcome with emotion, bursting at the seams with love and saudade. At once, you heard a door creak behind you. You had been so zoned into the letter you had completely lost track of your surroundings. You felt a slight panic at first from the noise, but then figured it may be one of the children up to go to the fresher or ask for a snack. Wiping your eyes, slowly you turned, and saw a tall dark cloaked figure in the doorway to the office. Highlights of ruby red could be seen through the shadows and you knew at once who it was.

“Maul!” you jumped out of the leather office chair like there were springs attached to your feet, entirely forgetting the open letter still sitting on his desk. You ran over to him so fast it felt like you were flying. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a long overdue embrace.

“My love, I am still dirty from my travels, I do not want to get my grime onto your perfect pristine self.” His voice was low and calm, just as you had remembered it and he smelled like blaster fire, ozone, sweat, and petrol.

“Oh I don’t care I missed you too much to ever care about that.” you didn’t let go as you spoke softly into his ear, “I was so worried. I...I thought maybe something had happened.”

He backed away shaking his head looking directly into your eyes with his alluring golden eyes, “No. No my sweets. I will always return to you. Always. No matter what.” 

With that he wrapped his hands around your waist so hard it drew the breath from your lungs and he lifted you off the ground walking slowly towards the ‘fresher. You held on tight, not worried about him dropping you, but simply to get closer to your lovelorn partner, drinking in his scent and making a mental note to store away this memory forever in your mind, to get you through future dark days.

He gently sat you atop the counter in the fresher as he began to peel off his bloody, singed, and greasy clothes. You didn’t have the patience to sit and watch so you began to help him, slowly lifting his shirt over his head, examining his gorgeous red skin for more wounds and tracing your hands along the old scars and tattoos that adorned his unique skin. He gently took your hand and held it up to his lips for a small kiss. You smiled sheepishly and he took your face into his calloused and strong hands and looked at you like he needed to study your face for a quiz on all your features.

“I missed you so much,” he said low and gravelly.

“I’m so happy you’re home, Maul.” you turned your cheek to kiss his hand, and he finished undressing to get into the shower. You lost yourself in a daze, watching his hands run soap and water over his naked form to wash off all the debris of his last hunt. You never even had to ask if he was successful anymore, he was always successful.

With a sudden jolt, you remembered you left the letter open on his desk.

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom, sweety.” you winked at him and started to walk out.

“(Y/n), I already know you read the letter you don’t need to try and hide the evidence.” Maul’s bright yellow eyes cut into your soul and you remembered he could read your mind.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t read my mind like that.” you pouted.

“Sweets, you left it out on my desk. I saw it when I walked in to hug you. It doesn’t take a mind reader to use context clues.” he laughed and you didn’t even care that he was teasing you, seeing him laugh and smile was the best sight in the galaxy.

“I’m sorry I read it. I..shouldn’t have. I should not have gone through your things, that was wrong.” your eyes got big to show your remorse at the decision. He stayed silent and you panicked at the thought of him being upset with you. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Hmmm… well. You did go through my things without asking. And read a highly classified document, I’m not sure if I can forgive you. I wonder if there’s some way you could make it up to me?” He was now climbing out of the shower and toweling himself off, with a sly smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand to lead him into the bedroom.

His eyes never leave your elegant figure and you slowly begin to undress, dropping your long robe to the bedroom floor, but still wearing your thin black nightie. He delicately throws you on the bed and gets ready to climb on top of you, his own figure still slightly wet from the shower, when a clatter is heard from down the hall. Maul whips his head around to look at the door behind him with his killer instincts, your head peeking out to the side of his.

“Shhh… I think daddy’s home.” a small voice from outside the bedroom followed by a gentle knock at the door. Maul growled so lowly that only you could hear it. Your eyes grew big and you threw your robe at Maul to cover up with as the door handle slowly rotated and two orange and yellow faces peered out from the darkness of the hallway. The sight of Maul excited them beyond measure and they ran to tackle him now wearing your fancy robe. There was nothing but laughter, happy tears, smiles, and warm embraces. It was the most beautiful family moment you could ever think of having in your life and you truly did not want it to end...mostly. 

No use in lying to yourself, you could not wait to get Maul all to yourself again for even just a little bit.

***************

tags: @wolfpack-arts-industries99​, @pinkiemme​

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror Finale (P.1...)

masterlist (catch up on parts 1-5 here!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw!reader

summary: y/n has had a crush on draco malfoy from afar since--well, forever. what will happen when they’re paired up for prefect rounds and run into a special mirror?

warnings: language

a/n: heyyy guys...how are you doing...so i’m sure you’ve noticed that i have p.1 added into this even though it’s marked as a finale...yes i am aware of the fact but it is not even close to being done and i do not want to give this a half baked ending. i thought you guys might like seeing what i’ve been sitting on for a long time. more writing will be coming soon! i promise! i’m actually working on another oneshot soon that’ll be fun to put out there !

overall tags:  @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry 

mirror mirror tags:  @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99

word count: 2.9k

music recs: i sink i sink -- living hold ; wishes -- beach house ; could this be love? -- saturn 17

Y/N played with the cup of tea that sat steaming before her, running the tips of her fingers around the golden rim. The soft chamomile scent rose up to her nose in charmed yellow tendrils, something that would’ve been calming had she not been sat in front of Professor Trelawny, answering uncomfortable questions and averting her gaze from her loony eyes.

“Dearie, I know that you may not want to share, but it’s incredibly important for the healing process. Even more important than the potions and the tea leaf readings.”

“Er...when I first fell asleep, all my dreams were just of past memories. Aft--”

“Excuse me.” Trelawny held up her hand as she scratched a heading on her parchment. “If you want to get better, you must add more details. What memories? Of what?” 

Y/N swallowed, casting her eyes to the ceiling. “Erm...I saw Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” Her breath hitched as the professor furrowed her eyebrows. Suddenly the teacup felt scalding in her hand. “I saw our rounds together. When we ran into the mirror, that is.”

“What mirror?”

“The Mirror of Erised.” 

Trelawny raised her eyebrow--a quick motion but not entirely unassuming. “Interesting. Very, very curious indeed. Go on.”

“I saw us...together. I didn’t think that it was a special mirror until afterwards because it looked the same. We were...uhm...together.”

It took a few seconds of staring at Trelawny’s googly eyes before she realized she’d just repeated herself.

“And after that….” Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to draw out the rest of her memories. “I don’t remember everything else. I’m sorry. It was just everything that I remember about Malfoy in particular...like, the first time I saw him, what it was like to talk to him for the first time, running away from him in the Slytherin dungeons that one night I had to stay overnight for potions...that’s it.”

Her professor nodded gravely, shifting in the only chairs that the hospital wing provided to visitors--hard, cold mahogany wood. “Well done. And after? Once Miss Severyjn woke you up?”

Her throat felt dry. Of course I’d have to recount what happened. Of course I have to tell them about how I had a dream about making out with him in my dorm. Of course. Just my luck.

“I’m sorry,” said Y/N. “It’s just...weird. It felt too private.”

Trelawny seemed slightly empathetic at this; her eyes seemed even kinder (albeit still dreamy) than usual. “I’ve heard it all, love. No need to be ashamed.”

“Okay.” She took a steadying breath. “I...well...it’s fuzzy. I can’t remember exactly why we ended up ditching our rounds and why we decided to go to my dorm instead.”

It was difficult to continue when she saw her companion’s eyebrows shoot up a few inches, but she steeled herself. 

“It took me a long time to unlock my dorm door--I think I was nervous, or something, because my hands were shaking too hard to hold my wand steady. He moved my hand aside and said something--I can’t quite remember what--and he just unlocked it himself. I think I dragged him in by his tie, and he told me that I was trembling, and then before I knew it he was cupping my face. I remember being surprised by how warm his hands were. I thought they’d be colder.”

“Go on, doll. I only need a little bit more.”

“It’s awfully embarrassing, you know,” said Y/N. “I hardly know him.”

“Don’t you worry. Your dream was created by whatever traces of magic the Mirror of Erised left on you. This has nothing to do with how you view Malfoy.”

She dared to smile at this point, mostly as a way to pretend like she wasn’t mortified recounting her tale. “He kissed me. I don’t know if you need any more details, but that’s the grand picture of it all. He kissed me, and I didn’t stop him, and now I feel like a proper creeper, having fantasies about a boy who wants nothing to do with me.”

The wrinkles on Trelawny’s forehead deepened. “Don’t fret. The Mirror of Erised is a very powerful thing. You couldn’t have influenced that dream to work any different than it had. On that note…” She brushed herself off and rolled up the parchment. “You’ve given me enough to work with. The reason why I ask is because sometimes certain dreams can be prophetic--sometimes regarding important wizarding events that the headmaster ought to be aware of--or potentially deadly. Both instances require a bit more...of an intensive treatment regiment, if you will. I’m happy to report to you that your bout of Dream Sickness shouldn’t develop into anything more sinister. I’ll recommend that you stay here for a bit longer, just to ensure that you don’t slip into it again, but you should be able to have visitors and wean yourself off of Dreamless Sleep. Rest up, darling. You have a lot of sleeping to do.”

Y/N smiled weakly as she allowed Trelawny to pluck the teacup from her hands and swirl the leaves about.

“Nothing but good news in your future, just as I suspected. Good night!” 

oOo

Life in the infirmary led Y/N to walk a wobbly line of consciousness. Once Madame Pomfrey lowered the doses of her potion, dreams began to once again tickle at her sleeping mind. Sometimes people she knew would appear next to her bedside, and she was never able to tell if it was real. During one of these instances, Rena appeared to hold her hand and recount the hottest gossip that she missed.

“...And after that, Parvati told Lavender Brown that she was nothing but a ditz whose only acts of Gryffindor bravery had to do with the fact that she left her room every morning wearing THAT disaster of a cloak…but I’m boring you, I can tell.”

Y/N, or perhaps Dream Y/N, whichever one she was, sent her a soft smile. “S’okay. Tell me more.”

“Oh, I totally forgot!” Rena squeezed her hand. “I talked to Flitwick about the whole incident. He sends his condolences. He also says that you’re excused from rounds until we reassign partners. No more late nights with Malfoy!”

She rolled her eyes, shuffling further under the blankets. This was just a dream, just a dream.

“Sucks to be him. He’s gonna have to walk all those big, scary halls alone at night.” 

Rena cracked a grin, but something flashed across her eyes that Y/N couldn’t quite decipher. “Yeah. He already had his knickers in a twist over having to do it the first night. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he missed you.”

“He missed having someone to harass, you mean,” corrected Y/N. 

“Yeah, I suppose so. He’s not all bad all the time though, you know. I mean, granted, he is a rich little prat, but he has some good in him.”

“Got a crush, hm?” 

Rena’s eyes shifted again. She was nervous thought Y/N. But why? She quickly decided to ask Madame Pomfrey for a higher dose of Dreamless Sleep the next time she saw her as a lucid member of society. This stuff is getting out of hand. 

Before Dream Rena left, she dropped off a bouquet of flowers--white roses, her favorite. Y/N tried to thank her, but she felt herself being tugged softly to a different dream, away, away, away from her dear friend. 

It took a rough shake of the shoulder from Madame Pomfrey before she was awake again.

“Drink,” she said, forcing a goblet of something foul into her hands. “You’ve been delirious. You need to wake up.”

The taste that hit her tongue was bitter and laced with the nostalgia of O.W.Ls season last year--Wide-Eye Potion. Her consciousness came crashing down on her like a cool tide and she became aware of how much sweat was dripping down her back.

Gross.

“Feel better?”

Y/N nodded, but as she turned to set her now-empty goblet on the table next to her, her stomach lurched. 

A vase of white roses stood, unimposing in nature but anxiety inducing when she considered the implications they carried. Rena’s visit hadn’t been a dream--and her last excuse to see Draco, the boy who had made her life hell for the last few weeks, was gone. 

So why did it feel like she’d just been punched in the stomach?

oOo

Exactly a week and one day after she had been admitted to the hospital, Madame Pomfrey allowed her a special privilege--the chance to take a walk around the castle grounds. After breathing the same stale hospital wing air, Y/N was eager to fill her lungs with something colder and fresh.

“Stick close to the gravel path,” said Madame Pomfrey, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening with each word she spoke. “Do not, and I mean, do not, get near a single magical artifact or so help me Merlin. If you feel the slightest bit feverish, you will come right back here and you will not--under any circumstances--lie down and shut your eyes. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey.” The words fell out of Y/N’s mouth without her really taking any notice; instead, she watched the way the trees moved outside, swaying softly with the wind. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

The nurse nodded--a brisk, tense motion. “Good. Be back here in 30 minutes. Any later and I will employ the entire staff of this castle to come track you down so I can personally drag you back here.”

Y/N had forgotten how air could be crisp--crisp she thought giddily--as she waltzed her way down the steps and into the courtyard. Her loafers made a satisfying tap on the stone that she almost missed when the pathway turned to gravel, the rocks crunching under toe instead. But regardless, she was stoked. In that moment, she had never felt more alive, not even after she’d gotten near straight Os last year...but seconds later, she was hit with something other than euphoria: namely, a silk clad black shoulder. 

“Ow.”  Y/N went face first into the ground, her cheek bouncing off the hard floor.

“Ah, fuck! Fuck! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” A posh voice, no doubt the owner of the silky shoulder, sounded from above her. “Oh, oh my god, Y/N? Is that you?”

She rolled over on her back and looked right up into the concerned eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“Er...Hi,” she said. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at her. “Are you alright? Why are you out of the hospital wing?”

“Madame Pomfrey let me go for a walk. She said that it’s good for me. Also she told me not to...fuck, I’m not supposed to lie down!”

The flash of terror in her eyes seemed to say enough, and before she knew it, he was hauling her up off the ground.

“Why are they letting you walk out all alone?” asked Draco, his tone demanding but not entirely uncaring. 

“I think they presumed that everyone on the path would have the common decency to avoid a poor sick girl coming out for her first walk in a week, but clearly they thought too soon.”

Draco still hadn’t completely let go of her shoulders, where his hands were clasped firmly around the sides in a gesture meant to steady. He snorted at that moment, a bit of his old self shining back through as he narrowed his eyes down good-naturedly at her. “It’s hardly like the entire school has been issued a warning that you’ve been released.”

“Oh, quit stroking my ego like that.” Y/N tilted her eyebrow to examine him. For the most part, her old rounds partner looked no different--same strikingly light eyes, same aristocratic features, same expensive and fashionable apparel--but the bags under his eyes were new. “Have you been sleeping? Like, at all?”

“Me?” 

“Yeah, you. Who else?”

His hands moved away from their supporting position to scratch the back of his neck. “Oh, er, not much. I keep worrying about getting what you came down with. Rena told me about the Dream Sickness and how it was because of the mirror, and it’s just hard for me to sleep.”

“Oh. I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah.” He shifted his weight back and forth, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“What exactly did Rena tell you?” Y/N’s words snapped Draco back to attention. “And if you say everything I will lie down on the ground, go back into my dream coma, and tell everyone it’s your fault.”

“Well, then.” A smirk danced across his lips. “Nothing. Rena told me nothing.”

Y/N stared at him for a few seconds before lowering herself to the ground, never breaking eye contact. 

“What--what are you doing?”

His face went out of her eye line as she lay flat on the ground, stretching her limbs out to vaguely resemble a starfish and exhaling a heavy sigh. “I’m going to sleep right here. When Madame Pomfrey finds me, barely toeing the line between life and death, I’ll have rehearsed a speech in my mind about how Draco Malfoy knocked a poor sick girl over in the gravel pathway and then harassed her to the point of exhaustion.”

When Y/N opened her eyes, she could see Draco come into vision. His green and silver striped tie swung in the air above her as he leaned over her, a slight grimace on his face.

“I don’t think you were sorted into the right house.”

“Keep your comments to yourself,” she said, shutting her eyes again and taking in a deep breath. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“I thought you were--Y/N, wait!” A hand reached out to gently shake her shoulder. “Wait! I thought you were kidding!”

“I never kid. I’m very serious. Leave me be, now. I have a speech to write.”

She heard a loud and rather over dramatic sigh above her before a hand started tugging at her arm, lifting it up over her head and pulling.

“Draco! Stop!”

“Calling me Draco, now, huh? Awfully intimate when you’re about to frame me for attempted murder,” he said, his tone surprisingly consistent and clear for someone hauling a whole adult woman off the ground. “Can you at least try to help me? A little bit?”

“Fuck off,” was the only thing coming out of Y/N’s mouth as he pulled her to her feet for the second time in less than 10 minutes. Once they were both standing, just barely a meter apart, Y/N found herself at a complete loss for words. Draco was looking down at her with an emotion displayed across his features that she could not quite place, and it made her stomach twist. 

“You have gravel stuck in your hands.” 

His voice took her by surprise. It had softened considerably, almost to a whisper. There was none of the usual snottiness or nasal judgement present--just a breathy declaration that made her knees weak from the sudden shift in energy.

His hand moved towards hers, and he met her eyes with a gaze that asked “is this okay?” Y/N couldn’t help but just stare, wide-eyed and unable to blink, as he gently took her hand and began pulling out the rocks. 

“I have to tell you something,” said Draco, still quiet and unimposing in tone. “I...I know that this might come as a surprise, and I know that you...er...probably don’t care to hear this, but, erm…”

Y/N just stared.

“I’ve been feeling this way for a while, and I just didn’t really figure it out until you, uh, you got sick, and I know I’ve been a proper prat to you and that you have no need to reciprocate anything, truly, but, ehm…”

His adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he squeezed his eyes shut, like he was in pain or something. 

“Spit it out, Draco, I don’t have all day,” added Y/N lightly. 

“Miss Y/L/N!” 

A voice boomed across the courtyard, making Y/N nearly jump out of her skin. A quick turn revealed that it was Madame Pomfrey. And a furious Madame Pomfrey at that.

“You foolish, foolish girl,” said Pomfrey, seizing her by the arm and dragging her away. “Speaking to the same boy in your dreams? Why don’t you just go and lick the Mirror of Erised and fall asleep right after? You give me migraines.”

“I’m so sorry Madame Pomfrey! I didn’t mean to!” Apologies rolled out of Y/N’s mouth at a rapid-fire pace, not stopping until she’d been escorted back to her bed.

“I am so disappointed in you,” the older lady snapped as she stormed over to the neighboring bed, angrily wringing out a washcloth. “No visitors. Not until you have a perfect bill of health.”

Hospital air had never felt so stale.

final a/n: whew this was a long one and definitely not all. this was about half of my draft and i’m still working on it, so we’ll see how long the next one is. i hope that you guys enjoyed! comments/thoughts on this chapter will definitely give me more motivation to finish this series strong, so i’d love to hear what you guys thought of this :) thanks for reading!

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 16: A Confession

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

In which Rumple leaves the jail, but is not free

Read on AO3

He waits in the darkness. In this prison, his magic is useless and there is nothing to do but wait. Has he been here for weeks or for months? When his wife fretted over his future, did she worry about him being so bored?

His cell is at the end of a long tunnel. The only torches are at the mouth of the corridor, where the guards are stationed. His captors are quiet tonight, but sometimes he hears them talking to each other. They tell tales of him, warning each other against his power, his evil, his devious tricks. They speak as though they are in danger just by being in his presence. 

They are not wrong. 

If he wanted to, he could kill them with his bare hands. He wouldn’t need magic or a weapon. His own strength and viciousness would be enough to rip through their armor and tear out their throats with his teeth. 

It is fortunate for the guards that he has no intention of harming them, or of escaping. He is exactly where he wants to be. This cell is insulated from magic, it is both a prison and a fortress. If there is any place in this world where the effects of the Queen’s curse might be mitigated, even a little, it is here. In this black hell, that faint spark of hope shines like the sun.

Movement. 

At the end of the tunnel, lights grow brighter. Another torch has been added to their number. Footsteps echo in the stone cave. Alerted, he sits up. He pounces away from the wall. He crouches on the dank ground like an animal, claws raised, teeth bared. 

“Come closer, dearie.” His words are sweet as treacle, but he laces them with poison. “How kind of you to visit me in my loneliness!” 

There is a gasp at the end of the hallway, half-stifled. The visitor is afraid, but is trying not to show it. The footsteps hurry forward, soft and quick. The torchlight grows brighter as it comes closer. 

It is a hooded figure, he cannot see its face. The body is small, and the cloak is patterned with green and yellow leaves.

He knows that cloak. He made it himself.

He cannot get his hopes up. He is imprisoned in the stronghold of his enemies. No illusion is beyond the grasp of the Evil Queen or the Blue Fairy. Either one of them could be trying to deceive him. Trying to exploit his weakness for their own gain.

 Or madness could be taking over his mind. His own hope could be twisting around on itself, creating a vision of what he wants. The one thing he wants to see more than anything else in the world.      

“Come closer, I said!” His voice is rough with disuse, with emotion. In this pit of despair, he does not dare hope. He doesn’t want to believe that it could be…

“You cannot order me about, Rumpelstiltskin. Not anymore.” The voice is clear and beautiful, like clean water in the middle of a drought. The light stops moving when it fills his vision. The figure sets a torch in a sconce. Finally, he can see her. Her face. Her furrowed brow, her shaky smile.  “You must at least say please.”

“Please,” he breathes. 

It is a short fall, to go from crouching to kneeling, but being near Belle again requires nothing less. He must get on his knees to her--his wife, his love, his dearest wish. 

Trembling, he reaches through the pointed bars of his cell. Without hesitation, her hand clutches around his. She is on her knees as well. Her flesh is warm and soft.

“You’re real.” This is no trick. He knows it as surely as he knows anything. “You’re alive.”

She bites her lip as she looks at him. He must be filthy, haggard, even more hideous than usual. But she is not repulsed. Only full of pity. 

“What have they done to you?” she whispers. 

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.” He cannot think of his own troubles, not while she is in front of him. “How did you come to be here, my darling?”

“The guard tonight is a dwarf called Sleepy.” She puts on a brave face, tries to make a joke. “He lives up to his name.”

He cannot tear his eyes from her. “And you have made yourself at home in this castle?”

She nods. “Our plan worked. The Prince ‘rescued’ me. And the side of goodness proclaimed me as one of their own.”

“You are,” he sighs. He has never seen a sight more beautiful than the woman who loves him. “You are goodness, my love. The royals should count themselves lucky that they get to be on your side, let alone that you want to be on theirs.”

Her hand clenches around his. “I’m on your side,” she promises. “We are working together, even when we are apart.”

“Yes.” He holds her hand in both of his and brings it to his lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“And I miss you.” 

She reaches into his cage. She grasps at his clothes, pulling him closer. Their mouths meet between the iron bars. Her kiss is honey and sunshine and the breath of life. It is meat and blood and peace. He cannot get enough of her. He will never have enough of her. Not until they are truly together, when all the curses are broken and they can live the rest of their lives without fear. 

They break apart at the same time, both of them gasping for breath.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. “If they find you with me, they will lock you up as well. They will think you are evil. They will try to purify you with scourges and flaying.”

“I know,” she agrees. “But I couldn’t stay away. If only I could be with you always. I would stay with you, even in this terrible place.”

“I know.” He rests his forehead against hers. They breathe together, an act of unity just as important as a kiss.

After a moment, he steps back. There is space between their bodies now, though their hands still touch against the bars. He rubs his thumb over the smooth gold of her wedding ring. 

“How are they, up in the outside world?”

“Everyone is panicking over Regina’s curse. They’re trying to stop it, but they don’t know how.”

“If only they had the most powerful user of dark magic in the world trapped somewhere nearby with nothing to do but offer advice to anyone who asks.”

Belle’s pink lips quirk into a half-grin. “Perhaps they need a reminder of that fact.”

“And how is Snow White bearing her firstborn?”

“I haven’t spoken to her much. But I’ve heard that she is often brought low with melancholy. The Prince insists that there is a way to fight the curse, but she is losing hope.”

“Is she desperate?”

“She will be.”        

“Good.”

The Dark One trades in desperation. Much of his power comes from fear--not only the fear that people have of him, but of the things they fear so much that they are willing to pay him whatever he asks for. 

“The child,” he whispers. “Have they given it a name yet?”

Belle shakes her head. “In this land a prince or princess is not named until after it is born. There is a grand ceremony when the name is spoken for the first time and proclaimed to the whole kingdom.”

“We won’t have time for that,” he snarls. “The curse is coming! The name of the Savior has power. I must know what it is!”

“You will.” She soothes him. She presses her palm against his own. Their scars match up, at the place where they mingled their blood on their wedding day. “I believe in you. We will find a way.”

His breathing slows as her nearness cools his rage. “Together,” he agrees.

His wife looks over her shoulder. “They will change the guard soon.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.”

“You shouldn’t come back.” He forces the words out. “You shouldn’t be here now.”

“Well you can take me over your knee when we see each other again.”

He snorts his surprise and amusement. She is too good, too perfect.

She looks over her shoulder again. “Before I go,” she says, “I have something to ask of you.”

“Anything, my love. Though I have little to give as I am now.”  

“It is something from your mind. Something to occupy your thoughts until we meet again.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to think of a name for our baby.”

His eyes widen. He blinks, several times. 

“Something you want to tell me, sweetheart?”

She smiles. “No, my love. Only that there is a future for us. Snow White is not the only person who can have an important child. We will be together again. And when we are, we will be a family. All of us.”

He nods. Already his mind is racing with every name he can think of. Names have power. The name of Belle’s child must be perfect. Meaningful. The enormity of the task is enough to fell him. What a brilliant woman his wife is! What a wonderful gift she has given him!

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for reminding me that all of this is temporary.”

Her face breaks, but she keeps herself from weeping. “I love you so much, Rumple.”

She presses in to kiss him again. It lasts for an eternity. It is over too soon. 

Before she leaves, she offers him one last assurance: “I will see you again.”

****

Rumpelstiltskin spent the better part of a day in the jail cell of the Storybrooke sheriff station. Apparently Sheriff Swan was the only officer with the authority to release detainees, and her presence was required outside the station until later in the afternoon. 

She sent her heartfelt regrets.

He didn’t mind much. The Dark One had learned long ago that there was power in appearing to be at the mercy of his enemies. Captivity in particular had its advantages. No distractions, for one thing. There was nothing he could do now except think, and plan.   

Another advantage was that people would have to come to him. Someone had taken the cup that had belonged to Belle. Someone knew what that cup was, and what it meant to him. Someone had tried to draw him out. And someone would be thinking that their scheme had worked.

So someone would be stopping by to gloat.  

There was no doubt that the culprit knew what had happened by now.  Even if Mrs. Gold’s drunken outburst hadn’t drawn a crowd, news spread fast in a small town. Enough people had heard her shout at him in Granny’s. And enough people had seen Emma helping Mrs. Gold walk to the station. And by mid-morning enough people had noticed him in the holding cell. 

For a few hours, Rumpelstiltskin entertained himself by imagining how wild and salacious the rumors could get. Any fool would know that Gold and his wife had participated in a public shouting match, but what else could they think of? That he had used violence? That Mrs. Gold had fought back using her high heeled shoes as a weapon? That her father had rushed in to defend her and Gold had beaten him bloody with his cane? Gold’s reputation was as the most feared man in Storybrooke. Nothing was too outrageous to believe.  

That reputation had saved Rumpelstiltskin a lot of trouble in his dealings with the people of Storybrooke. Even now, at the piddling mercy of uniformed police officers, a glare and a sneer were enough to keep them away from him. Every one of them paid rent to him, or owed him something, and they were all keenly aware of it. He was in a cage, but they were the ones who were terrified.   

So they made themselves scarce. The station was practically empty by the time Emma waltzed in with a bag from Granny’s. Walking along the central office area, she pulled wrapped sandwiches out of the paper bag and set them on all the desks. Presumably, she knew her workers well enough to know what each would want for lunch. And she cared enough to get it for them, an act that would certainly endear herself to her subordinates. 

Emma pulled out the last sandwich from the bag and held it out as she walked over to the cell. “I figured you for a pastrami guy.”

Rumpelstiltskin let himself reach out and take the food. He held the oil-soaked paper bundle in both hands and didn’t open it. “Corned beef, actually.”

“I’ll remember that for next time you’re in here.” It was a joke, but it was also a threat. Emma leaned against one of the desks in front of the cell, facing him with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I believe you mean the first time I actually commit a crime,” he countered. Getting her to put him in jail had been nothing but a bit of theater, a convenient way to keep Mrs. Gold from the same fate. They both knew he wasn’t being charged. 

“The next time I catch you trying to get a drunk woman to go home with you against her will.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugged, playing his part. “Given Mrs. Gold’s impulse control, I can’t make many promises on that topic.”

“If you’re trying to convince me that any part of this is her fault, that is not going to happen.”

He let her have that one without further argument. Emma Swan was smarter than most people in this town. She had the rare gift of First Sight--the ability to see things as they really were, and not how everyone knew they were supposed to be. Outside Storybrooke, it had probably been an advantageous skill. But here, in a place where reality itself was subject to the most powerful curse ever made, she was wrong even when she was right. 

Nothing Mrs. Gold’s life was her fault, that was true. But it wasn’t Rumpelstiltskin’s fault either. Gold had preyed upon a young woman. Regina had cursed them all. Emma was the only one who could fix everything, but not in the way she thought. Not in any way even someone as smart as her could imagine. 

He held up the sandwich. “Thanks for picking up lunch,” he said. “Do my tax dollars include dessert?”

Emma stood up straight, arms swinging with deliberate casualness. “You sit tight, Gold. I’ve gotta go find some paperwork before I can release you.”

She went out into the hallway, and Rumpelstiltskin knew he was in for at least another two hours of incarceration.

It didn’t matter. Emma thought she was punishing Gold, but really she was keeping Rumpelstiltskin free for a little while longer. 

He didn’t want to face Mrs. Gold. Interacting with her was torturous under regular circumstances. After last night--and the night before that, and the day in between--living with her would be nearly impossible. 

It had finally broken apart. The facade of a marriage that he had spent five months hiding behind had cracked and shattered. She had heard him call out to Belle. She accused him of infidelity. Even Mrs. Gold’s unwavering obedience to her husband had finally bent under the strain of Rumpelstiltskin’s neglect.  

Part of him was relieved. It was one thing to wear a mask in front of his enemies, but it was something altogether different to constantly deflect the attentions of a woman who only ever wanted to please him. She lived in his house, she was with him all the time. Until last night, they had slept in the same bed. It had worn on him, to have Belle’s body so near, so willing--and have to reject her again and again. Perhaps now Mrs. Gold would get it into her head to reject him.

Would she leave him? 

Long ago in their cursed life, Mrs. Gold had burned bridges with everyone she had known before her marriage. She had no support structure, no money of her own. Her job skills would be enough to get her part-time work at minimum wage--if anyone wanted to hire her. The woman’s reputation around town would scare away most respectable employers. Without Gold, she would have to go begging back to her already impoverished family. Or she could try to ingratiate herself with some other wealthy man in Storybrooke. Gold had often insulted his wife by calling her a whore, but what other option had he given her?

If nothing else, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t allow that to happen. He wouldn’t let Mrs. Gold make any more reckless decisions with Belle’s body. Though the illusion of the marriage had dissolved, he would have to maintain control over Mrs. Gold somehow.

Probably through money, or comfort. At her core, Mrs. Gold was a practical woman. She knew that her relationship with Gold was a simple deal. If Rumpelstiltskin altered the deal, perhaps she wouldn’t make a fuss. 

An image from the night before floated through Rumpelstiltskin’s memory: Mrs. Gold, drunk and heartbroken, fighting against Emma in her need to lash out at him. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard!”

Where had she gotten that idea? Gold had never allowed his wife to entertain notions of love between them. How could the way Rumpelstiltskin had been treating her possibly lead her to that conclusion? Mrs. Gold had said she loved him, when he had been dreaming of Belle. Had she been dreaming as well? 

Had Mrs. Gold been dreaming of her husband? Or had Belle been dreaming of Rumpelstiltskin? What was happening to the curse?

Emma came back with a manila file folder in her hand. She strode purposefully through the station, perfectly comfortable wielding her authority. She was truly the combination of her parents--a born princess and a seasoned war leader. She was the Savior, the curse-breaker. All he had to do was hold on until she started saving everyone.

There was a clear line of sight between the Sheriff’s office and the holding cell. Rumpelstiltskin watched as Emma put the folder she had just brought in at the bottom of a stack of similar files. He took that to be all the paperwork she would have to get through before she would deign to release him. 

****

After twenty minutes of industrious silence, the sound of running feet broke through the hallway outside. To Rumpelstiltskin’s ear, the running sounded happy, excited, young. A child with boundless energy, finally free to burst toward something they want.

Following the running was the methodical click of high heeled shoes. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin thought that Mrs. Gold had come to the station. But no, these footsteps were more authoritative, businesslike.

He wasn’t surprised at all to see Henry Mills come bounding in to the station and make a beeline for Emma’s office. And of course Regina would be slinking right behind him.

“Sheriff Swan, I’m going to permit you half an hour with my son.” Regina announced this piddling allowance of time like it was a gift. “Take him out for ice cream.”

Rumpelstiltskin watched Emma’s eyes flit from Regina, to Henry, to the empty station, to himself, and then back to Regina. “You’re expecting me to leave you alone with a prisoner?”

Regina lifted her chin and looked straight ahead at the cell. “Twenty-nine minutes.”

This time, Emma’s look went only from Henry to Rumpelstiltskin. “Are you okay with this?”

He shrugged. “Bring me back a cone?”

Emma nodded to him, then spoke to Regina. “We will be right back.”

“Yes, you’ll have to be,” the Queen said smoothly. She stood still as Emma and Henry bustled around her, jabbering excitedly as they left. It really was remarkable how much both mother and son lit up when they were together. 

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move. He stayed seated on the cell bench and let Regina come to him. She perched on the arm of the sofa in front of the holding cell. She had a large, black leather purse slung over one shoulder.

“Madame Mayor,” he said in tones low with menace. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Mr. Gold, I think we might be able to help each other.”

The audacity of this woman. Under any other circumstance, she would have nothing to offer him. And yet…

“When two people each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I hoped you’d see it that way.”

“But do you have something I want?”

Instead of answering, Regina crossed her legs and pushed back the blazer of her smart business suit. “You know, all day I’ve been hearing the most terrible rumors about you and Mrs. Gold. I do hope everything is alright between you two.”

“My wife,” he said slowly, “has not been herself lately.”

“Or is it you who haven’t been yourself, Mr. Gold?”

He looked at her, impassive. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do.” The Queen took her purse off her shoulder and set it on her knees.

Rumpelstiltskin tried not to stare at the bag. He looked instead at Regina’s face. “Why are you here?”

“Like I said, to help you. And to receive some help in return.”

“What do you have to offer me, dearie?”

“Not much,” she smirked. Without looking down, Regina reached into her purse and pulled it out. The chipped cup. “Just a… sentimental little keepsake.”

It took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s resolve not to leap to his feet and demand the cup. He wanted to break these steel bars and rip the cup from Regina’s hands--and rip her hands from her arms if she wouldn’t surrender it. That was Belle’s cup. This witch had no right to touch it!

Instead, he stayed still. All his energy, all his rage, focused on the cup. He focused on Regina, who dangled it by the handle.

“How?” he rasped. How had she known about the cup? How had he let his cover slip? How had she broken into Gold’s house?

“Flimsy locks,” she quipped. Then the Queen turned more serious. “I have power in this world, more power than you know.”

“But not enough,” he hissed. “You will never have enough power to beat me.” 

She shook her head. A faint chuckle entered her voice. “I already have. I know what your weakness is.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed and made himself shrug. “It’s just a cup.”

“But you want it,” Regina purred. “And you’ll give me what I want in order to get it back.”

“What is it that you want, dearie?”

“I want you to answer one question. And answer it simply.” She squared her shoulders before she asked: “What is your name?”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t hesitate. “It’s Mr. Gold.”

The Queen glowered at him. “Your real name.”

“Every moment I’ve spent in this world, that has been my name.”

Regina leaned forward, closer to the bars. “What about moments spent elsewhere?”

He locked his eyes on hers. “What are you asking me?”

“I think you know.” Clearly her patience was running thin. “Tell me your name.”

And with a sly grin, he confessed: “Rumpelstiltskin.”

The deal done, he took the cup from Regina’s unresisting hands and cradled it in his own. He looked it over, making sure there was only one chip. Belle’s cup. Their cup. It was safe.

When he looked at Regina, she was fairly glowing with triumph. 

“What gave me away?”

“Belle did,” Regina said smugly. “I’ve been watching Mr. and Mrs. Gold for, well, a very long time now. I could see that something was wrong with her. But you seemed perfectly normal. Suspiciously normal.”

His own caution--his own commitment to playing the role of Gold--that was what had exposed him. Still holding the cup in both hands, Rumpelstiltskin sat back against the wall. “So,” he said, “as long as we’re being honest with each other, let’s remember how things used to be.”

“We used to work together,” Regina said, incorrectly. “You used to help me without so much… hostility.”

“That was before you ever came after what was mine, Your Majesty.” He shook his head and tutted. “You really should be more careful about who you make your enemy.”

“You mean my victim,” she sneered.

“And how much longer do you think that will last? Haven’t you noticed the curse getting weaker?”

“But I am just as strong as ever!” The Queen rose to her feet. She looked down on him with regal disdain. “You’re the one who’s letting your biggest weakness galavant all over town!”

Clutching the bars of the cell, Rumpelstiltskin pulled himself up to stand “For your sake, I hope that isn’t a threat.”

“Of course not.” Regina closed her purse and began to leave. “I’ve barely spoken to Mrs. Gold. I’m certainly not the one who brought her so much pain she got drunk in public and started crying in the street.”

With a satisfied smirk, Regina turned on her heel and left.  

****

Darkness had fallen by the time Emma officially let him out. Winter nights came early in Maine. If the sheriff noticed the teacup in his hands, she didn’t mention it. 

His first thought was to walk back to Granny’s where he had parked Gold’s car the night before. But then he remembered that he had given the keys to Mrs. Gold so she could take herself home. So he would have to walk to the house.

He only hoped that she would still be there when he arrived.  

The house was dark and the door was unlocked. Gold’s heavy ring of keys hung in plain sight on the first hook by the door. Rumpelstiltskin took the keys and put them in his pocket. Flimsy locks, Regina had said. She had broken into his house and stolen one of the things he valued most in the world--and he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. The cup could have been missing for days before he went into Gold’s study and saw that it wasn’t where he’d left it.

Would she attack his home again? Should he arrange to put double bolts on all the doors? Or was she just trying to toy with him? This was a world the Queen had made. It shouldn’t surprise him that she had her own ways to take anything she wanted from anyone. 

Noise came from one of the inner rooms. It took Rumpelstiltskin a moment to recognize the sound of the television in the living room. Gold had never cared much for the “idiot box,” so it had been an easy device for Rumpelstiltskin to ignore. 

He went toward the noise, turning on lights as he went through the house. In the living room off the kitchen, the only light came from the flashing bluish glare of the television. Mrs. Gold was sitting on the couch, curled in on herself under a blanket. She was staring vacantly at the screen, letting the sounds and images wash over her. 

Was it just the blue light, or was she paler than normal? The shadows of this dark room brought out the hollows in her cheeks and under her eyes. He could see the sheen of tear tracks on her skin. Unwashed hair hung limply around her face. Her lower lip was dark and swollen from where she had been biting it.

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t move or speak. Mrs. Gold hadn’t noticed his arrival. Briefly, he wondered if she was drunk again. If she was trying to deaden the pain of her existence by deadening every other sense. But no, there were no bottles anywhere nearby. Mrs. Gold’s pain by itself was enough to deaden her senses.  

He turned on a lamp and let a soft golden glow invade the harsh blue. Mrs. Gold jumped out of her daze. Unlike other times when Rumpelstiltskin had surprised Mrs. Gold, she didn’t hop to attention like a trained animal. She didn’t stand up and present her body for his approval, she didn’t kneel before him like a slave. Instead, Mrs. Gold sank back into the corner of the couch. She wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him in silence.  

She was afraid. 

When she had looked at him like this before, Mrs. Gold had been afraid of what she knew was coming. She knew how cruel her husband was, what the consequences were of displeasing him. But now it seemed she was afraid of the unknown. She had said it herself: All that matters is that I don’t know who you are. Whether she knew it or not, Mrs. Gold was afraid of Rumpelstiltskin.  

“Hi,” he said softly. He tried not to alarm her any further.

“Hi,” she answered, still staring at him. She didn’t let her guard down. She muted the television and turned to face him.

“I… I didn’t know if you would still be here.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She broke their eye contact and  looked down. “I didn’t know if yo u would let me come back if I left.”

Rumpelstiltskin clenched his fist around his cane. Was her uncertainty a reflection of Gold, or of himself? Gold had done so much to hurt his wife, but Rumpelstiltskin was the one who had hurt her most recently. He was the one who had made her like this.

“Mrs. Gold,” he said. “Please, I know things are… confusing right now. But please know that this is always your home, and I will always provide for you.”

“Why?” The word was a whisper in a silent house, but it carried all the weight of the world. “You’re not fucking me. You don’t even like me. Why do you bother with me?”

The chipped cup was still in his hand. He set it down on an end table and moved to sit in one of the high-backed chairs across from the couch. Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he spoke to Mrs. Gold. 

“Because I have a duty to you,” he answered. “I have a responsibility to care for you.”

She snorted and shook her head. 

“To take care of you,” Rumpelstiltskin amended. “I owe you that much, Mrs. Gold. It is the absolute least I can do.”

 “How nice of you.” Her voice shook with bitterness. “How super fucking charitable! How long will that last, do you think? How long until you get tired of doing the least you can do?”

Mrs. Gold’s hands twisted in the blanket. Her face screwed up into the picture of unspoken agony. She let her hair hang over her face and took a few ragged, sobbing breaths.   

He wanted to go to her. He wanted to comfort her. Belle or not, she was a woman in pain and he knew that he could soothe her. That was the least he could do.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He stayed in the chair, shoulders slumped, and waited for her to calm herself. 

“Mrs. Gold,” he tried, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you married.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Is that it?” On the couch, Mrs. Gold was shaking. “Are we… Is it over? Us? Our marriage?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin spoke before he could think. “No, I want you with me, dear. I don’t… I don’t want us to be separated.” 

“But you don’t want us to be together.” She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “Not like we were before.”

“I know it’s complicated,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more. Truly I do. But right now let’s just say that I have enemies and you are better off under my protection. All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

She let out a shaking breath that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Does Belle trust you?”

It was a strange thing to hear Mrs. Gold say. Belle’s voice, saying her own name with so much suspicion and loathing.

“Yes,” he answered. “Belle trusts me with her life, though I’m not always worthy of it.”

For a long time, Mrs. Gold didn’t say anything. She shook her head, rocking slightly on the couch as tears streamed silently down her face. 

And Rumpelstiltskin sat there. Doing nothing. 

When Mrs. Gold was able to speak, she asked him: “Why aren’t you with her now?”

“With Belle?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I mean, you’re still a man who can get whatever he wants. If she’s so important to you, why aren’t the two of you together?”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, trying to think of something plausible to say. “We want to be,” he started. “But, well, Belle is very far away from me right now.”

“What, does she live in fucking Australia or something? Or is she married too?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a tone he knew would make Mrs. Gold drop the topic. “What matters is that I have a responsibility to you, and I’m not going to shirk that just because I’m in love with someone else.”

Mrs. Gold winced, but then it turned into a grim smile. “Never thought I’d hear you say that you loved anyone, Mr. Gold. That’s why I never took it personally that you didn’t love me.” Abruptly, she stood up. “I’ll move my clothes over to the guest bedroom.”

“You can have the master--”

“No,” she cut him off. She seemed to have run out of emotions, and was now running on brutal practicality. “You need the bathroom in the master suite because of your leg. I won’t have as hard a time with the tub in the hall bathroom.”

“That’s… very thoughtful of you.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.” She sighed and turned off the muted television. Now her half of the room was in darkness. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the worst deal you could have offered me.”

“What deal?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. He had been trying to be honest with her. He wasn’t aware that they had been negotiating. 

“A loveless marriage for a life of comfort.” She kept herself busy by folding her blanket and putting it away in a cedar chest. She didn’t look at him. “It is mostly the same as what we had before.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her as she walked out of the living room.

“Good night, Mr. Gold,” she said formally. “I’m glad you found your teacup.”

By the time he gathered himself enough to speak, she was already upstairs. A door slammed, and Rumpelstiltskin hung his head. 

So this was the future he was going to have with his wife.

[firaknight]

So this is basically PMD x Kirby

(Here’s a key: pink is the name of the character, green is the Pokemon they chose, blue means male, pink means female, purple is the description of design changes)

So, before I explain who gets who, Adeleine sets up a few rules/guidelines for everyone.

1: The couch. Adeleine and Ribbon live in a cottage on the outskirts of town and therefore have a small house. When everyone’s there, she has a set seating system: tall people (DDD, herself, Daroach, etc) have to sit on the couch or in the general back. Short people (basically everyone else) sit in front of the couch and around the floor (she gives them pillows and floor seats of course)

2: No repeats! It’s to help her remember and also to not cause confusion or arguments. Nobody gets to have the same Pokemon as someone else (the only exception being if they plan to evolve them into a branching evolution, like Gardevoir and Gallade in the Ralts line)

3: Personalize! Everyone gets to add design changes to theirs (cut ear, different patterns, accessories, etc) to make them their own! They also assign genders to theirs and if they can’t decide, dice are rolled. Odds for male, evens for female (they can choose not to, but the vast majority were like “yeah whatever let’s just give them a gender”).

Ok onto the actual Pokemon

Adeleine: Chikorita, female, wears a scarf (part of the in-game story) and has a multicolored head leaf! Also had a small crystal hanging from her neck!

She saw the design and called them a “tiny dinosaur with a big leaf” and immediately decided on them. She loves them to death and thinks they’re the cutest Pokemon on the planet.

Ribbon: Fennekin, female, wears a scarf (part of the in-game story), has fur that is more pink than red, and wears a huge red bow! Also has a small crystal hanging from her neck!

Couldn’t choose the same Pokemon as Adeleine and thought Fennekin looked beautiful (she was even more excited when she saw the final evolution). She also has a type matchup with Adeleine and absolutely takes bullets for her to keep her from dying.

Kirby: Eevee, female, white fur is tinted pink, has blue eyes instead of brown, and wears bunch of colorful accessories like bows, bracelets/anklets, and collars!

Couldn’t decide on the gender and the dice rolled female! He doesn’t care and loves his Eevee!!! He likes how soft they look and how they have different evolution!! It’s like his copy abilities!!! He’s stuck trying to figure out what to evolve them into tho.

Dedede: Piplup, male, wears a big robe and hat, body is a slightly darker and more vibrant blue, and is a little chubbier!

He convinced Adeleine to take on a more difficult dungeon request for this (she got a big dinner at the royal table and got to stay the night in one of the royal rooms out of it though so it was worth it) and after a near 2 hour run and almost 3 game overs, she got it. Dedede only wanted it because it’s the only penguin Pokemon in the series and he wanted a big penguin like himself!!!

Meta Knight: Ralts (Gallade), male, wears a mask like his own, has more jagged blades, and wears a cape!

Only picked them because they saw Gallade and said “yeah that’s gonna be me” and didn’t wait for an answer. He likes their arm blades and the fact that they have a mega evolution (even BIGGER blades!!!!!!! A big tattered cape!!!!!! Badass looks!!!!! What’s not to like!!!!)

Bandee: Karrablast, male, wears a blue bandana, body is orange instead of blue, stomach is cream instead of orange, and has a tiny spear (this is later removed when they evolve)!!!

They saw Escavalier and got super excited!! Double spear arms!!! Armored and tough looking!!! They like how tough they look and 100% chose them for that reason only (although the Pokemon kinda grew on them over time). Not ultra tough right now but they’re getting there!

Marx: Sableye, male, gems are basically mirrors, wears a jester cap like his own, and has only 2 claws instead of 3!!

He likes how fucking creepy they look and how their mega evolution has teeth. It’s a very specific detail they will absolutely drill into why they like them so much. They also like how powerful they can be if used correctly!

Gooey: Goomy, female, body is shades of blue instead of purple, has a tongue that noticeably sticks out!!

He originally wanted Ditto but then they saw Goomy and felt a certain kind of love for them. He also couldn’t decide and the dice rolled female! He likes how the name is similar to his own and how they’re goopy like him!!! They’re also super squishy and he is too!!!!!!

Rick: Dedenne, male, tail is shorter, body is similar in color to him, has beans!!!!!!

He likes how they’re kinda hamster-esc!! They have electricity too which is hella cool. They look kinda soft to him and he was mildly upset over them not having paw beans and demanded that Dedenne be given justice by having them drawn in (Adeleine totally agrees to this). He likes to think they’re mega soft like himself!!!

Kine: Magikarp, male, slightly flatter, blue instead of orange, larger fins!!

He couldn’t choose a Pokemon and eventually just settled on Magikarp because he thought they’d be ok. Didn’t realize they evolve into such a big Pokemon until they saw what it looked like in one of the dungeons. The keep bragging about how powerful they’re gonna be when they finally evolve, but nobody is taking him seriously because he can only use 1 move as of now and hasn’t reached a point where he can evolve yet.

Coo: Hoothoot, male, body is purple instead of brown, has spiked feathers on his head, has a softer and fluffier appearance!!!!!

It’s an owl. He wanted to be an owl. He reeeeaaallly wants to evolve because Noctowl looks way cooler but he’s fine with what he’s got for now!!! He has a speed based build because he can fly very fast :)

Dark Meta Knight: Noibat, female, monochromatic colors with some red mixed in, mask with a scar, tattered wing membrane!!!

Purposefully decided on having a femal because he thinks it kicks ass a little more (also he loves his adopted daughter and decided that would be badass too). Built like a fucking assault tank but with speed. He absolutely leads the charge when he’s playing and takes every fucking hit possible if it’s aimed at his daughter. Gloats about his badass evolution and how fucking sick it looks despite having not evolved yet.

Daroach: Sneasel, male, wears a cloak and hat like his own, has yellow and longer claws!!!!

He didn’t like any of the existing rats and said “lemme get a thief pokemon” and settled on Sneasel. They have a team called the Squeak Squad and it’s comprised of his Sneasel and the squeaks own copies of the game! They play together in their free time and Daroach had Adeleine grab him a Sneasel so he could play on her copy too.

Magolor: Inkay, male, wears a blue cloak like his own, has yellow eyes!!! (The cloak doesn’t really fit until Inkay evolves)

Physically couldn’t choose and then someone showed him Inkay and he said “oh! I fucking hate them.” It was only until they showed him Malamar that he said “oh they look like they’d backstab someone. Perfect.” He likes how fucking ominous they look and how they would 100% be a supervillain given the chance. His Inkay is a good guy tho don’t worry.

Taranza: Joltik, male, has tiny fangs and little horns that grow out when they evolve, wears a cape, has little gloves on their hands!!!

He wanted Flabebe because of the flowers but was told someone already took that one and decided he’d take a spider Pokemon! Almost settled on Ariados but then saw Galvantula and got super excited. He likes their fuzzy look and thinks they are a lovely Pokemon!!

Susie: Gothita, female, eyes are gradient blue with no pupils, has pink accents on the head, more modern appearance!!

She couldn’t find any pretty ones with tech on them but liked Gothita! She thinks they look ok and Adeleine was nice enough to invite her over for PMD game day so she joined in. Her Gothita is surprisingly beastly and is a heavy hitter! However she also gets her ass kicked really fast because Gothita isn’t built for up close heavy hitting.

Zan Partizanne: Shinx, female, wears the same clothes as her, has more yellow on her!!

She really liked how Shinx looks. Tiny electric kitty puppy thing! She wanted to name it after some kind of thunder deity but wasn’t able to (she probably had a name for it tho). Speedy little powerhouse who looks adorable. Continues to tell Adeleine that she’s only doing this to repay her debt (and also for insulting her hairline) but is really just enjoying herself.

Flamberge: Fletchling, female, wears the hat and ribbon-like shawl, has spiked feathers that stick up a lot like her hair, more vibrant red!!!

She fucking loves this little bird. Like. A lot. Something about them is just so awesome to her. Maybe it’s because it evolves into a giant fire falcon but who knows! She just loves them and cherishes them with all her heart. BEGGED Adeleine to recruit them and managed to convince her (she had to offer up making her a cool sword to get it. Adeleine accepted the deal almost immediately because cool ass sword).

Francisca: Vanillite, female, wears the hat and shawl, has more vibrant blue, ice cream part is the same color as her hair!!!

You know exactly why she chose this one. Ice cream baby!!!!!!!! She thinks they’re lovely and wants a plush of them super bad (they don’t make them yet but merch happens eventually!). She jokes that they have an ice cream stash they live in.

Pitch: Pidgey, male, green in color!

He got to join in after the other animal friends told him! He’s good friends with Adeleine (all the animal friends are) and she let him pick a Pokemon! He doesn’t play as much because he has to use his little feet’s but he does his best!

Nago: Glameow, female, body is orange and the ears are brown! Eyes remain closed instead of open to reflect his design!

He wanted it to be a girl just because. He says it’s because it resembles his girlfriend a teensy bit (just in coat color really) and he loves her a lot. Little bastard cat causes trouble on adventures and purposefully runs off to look for the stairs by himself without any incentive from Adeleine.

Chuchu: Frillish, female, wears a small red ribbon and has a more vibrant pink body!!

Couldn’t choose originally but settled on Frillish because it’s the closest thing to her. Nicknamed it frilly and likes to cause problems. She’s got a pretty decent move set and knows how to kick ass with it tho so she makes up for her trouble with that.

Queen Ripple: Flabébé, female, wears glasses and has black ear frill things, wears her crown, and wears her dress!!! Flower is white!

She gets to play too!!!!! Adeleine offered to let her have a Pokemon and she plays though wireless connection! On a very rare occasion, she makes a trip out to Popstar for a week or so and gets to play during then! She has a lot of fun and adores the design for Flabébé so damn much (plus it’s fairy type and that makes her very happy)!!!

[appleaxolotl]

Meta Knight x Reader- Panic Attack

Boom!

You heard a loud bang outside the room. Your eyes jolted towards the door.

A boisterous laugh sounded, followed by a cackle. Dedede and Escargoon.

Crash!

The sound of glass shattering.

You felt your heartbeat quicken. Shakily, you got to your feet and made your way to the door. As you were about to open it, there was a knock on the other side, which caused your already tensed body to jump, and a soft squeak to leave you.

“(Y/n), it’s me,” a familiar voice spoke from the other side.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Meta Knight.

You open the door and are greeted with Meta Knight’s yellow eyes meeting yours.

“Sir Meta Knight, what are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you. You heard the loud noises, too?” He asks.

“Yeah, I was actually about to go see what it was. It, well, it has me worried,” you admit.

“As it does me,” Meta Knight answers. “Though I know Dedede is behind this, I don’t know what he’s up to,” he turns back to you, extending a hand. “Would you like to join me, my dear?”

You blushed at his ‘dear,’ but placed your hand in his nonetheless. He notices.

“No need to be shy, (Y/n). We are dating now, afterall.”

The mention of this only made your cheeks grow darker.

“I know, it’s just,” you started as the two of you began to walk together, “It feels nice when you call me that.”

“Dear?”

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Well then I’ll make sure to do it often, my dear,” one of his eyes, currently a pink shade, winks at you behind his mask. Your cheeks matched the color of his eyes as you quickly averted your gaze.

BOOM!

The commotion sounded closer, and Meta Knight instinctively jumped between you and the direction it came from. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

“It came from the throne room,” He said.

Your legs suddenly felt a bit shaky. But you followed after Meta Knight as he led the way.

You opened the doors of the throne room, and as you did, something fired towards you. Meta Knight pushed the two of you down just in time as the projectile whooshed overhead. A second later the deafening sound of the cannon hit you, a loud rumble that reverberated through your chest. And then the bright light from the flash. All of it culminated into one big overstimulated nightmare.

“Meta Knight, what in the world are you doing!?” A shout from Dedede.

Your heart was pounding.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t get in the way when we’re trying out new weapons!” Escargoon’s yelling echoed through your skull.

You couldn’t control your breathing. You shouldn’t be breathing this heavily.

“Sire, with all due respect, the castle doesn’t make for a very good shooting range,” Meta Knight.

Oh god, your throat was closing up. Your body was shaking. Everything felt both so far away and too close at the same time.

“Well maybe you shoulda knocked first!” Dedede yelled again.

You tried to sit up from where you landed when Meta Knight pushed the two of you down. Your arms were trembling. They don’t usually do that, right?

“Yeah, you shoulda knocked first!” Escargoon parroted Dedede.

Something crashed behind you, collateral from the projectile that just missed you. Your hands continued to tremble. Looking at them, you felt your breathing get even faster. Was there no oxygen in this air? Why did it feel like you weren’t getting air when you so clearly were breathing it in? Just thinking about it only made you breathe harder.

When Meta Knight finally took a look at you, he froze. His eyes lingered a moment on your trembling body, before his eyes flashed white. Without hesitation he dashed over towards you and took one of your hands.

“(Y/n), are you alright?”

You furiously shook your head. You thought about lying and saying yes, but you knew he would see right through you if you tried to pretend you were fine.

“Hey, Meta Knight, look at me when I’m talking to you!” Dedede shouted.

“Sire,” Meta Knight’s eyes flashed red as he side-eyed the king. Dedede took a step back, immediately looking apologetic. “I would greatly appreciate it if you would test your weapons away from the castle.”

“Of- of course Meta Knight!” Dedede stuttered.

“We wouldn’t want to cause any trouble,” Escargoon mimicked, equally intimidated by the knight’s piercing gaze.

Meta Knight’s glare lingered on them a second more, eyes returning to their normal yellow at their answer, before bringing his attention back to you.

“I’m going to move you out of here, (Y/n). Is that alright?”

Your body still shaking, you nodded. Your throat still felt too tight to give a proper answer.

With that, Meta Knight scooped you up and dashed from the room back down the hall. Your vision was too unfocused to tell, but Meta Knight was bringing you back towards the room he shared with Sword and Blade. A quick opening of the door, and he set you down on his bed.

Your breathing was still too fast, but the fact you were away from King Dedede and Escargoon’s shouts helped a bit. Everything still felt like too much all at once. But Meta Knight’s voice pulled you towards something to focus on.

“(Y/n), you’re having a panic attack right now. I know it’s scary, but it’s going to pass. I’ll be right here next to you the whole time.”

Okay, so, you were having a panic attack. Okay, cool, this is fine. This is-

A panic attack.

Your breathing slowed a little bit, but not much.

“(Y/n), I need you to try to slow down your breathing, okay? In,” Meta Knight drew a long breath in, “and out,” and let it out slowly.

You mimicked his breaths as he repeated the action and instructions with you. You felt your throat opening back up again, slowly. You were still shaky, though.

“Good, good, you’re doing great,” you could hear the smile in Meta Knight’s voice, despite his mask hiding his expression. You gave him a shaky smile in return.

“Is there anything you need, dear?”

“How long?” You croaked out, throat still a bit closed up.

“Typically about half an hour,” Meta Knight answered. Your eyes widened and your breathing quickened again, until he quickly added, “But the length of time can vary. Just, focus on your breathing. Finding something to focus on instead also helps come down from it. Like, uh.”

He glances towards the still open door for a moment. His eyes turn a green color. A moment of hesitation, then he places one hand in yours.

You squeeze it, finding some comfort in holding it. It felt like another thing to keep you grounded for the moment. You had expected that Meta Knight was just going to give you his hand to hold, but with another glance towards the door, he moved his other hand towards his helmet.

“Wait, you don’t,” you were cut off when you hear a click, and Meta Knight moves the mask away from his face.

Staring back at you, Meta Knight, unmasked, met your eyes. He looked how you imagined Kirby would (once Kirby had grown up a bit). Despite looking a little nervous, his voice held steady.

“It’s okay (Y/n), I trust you.”

You squeezed his hand again. Your breathing had slowed back to normal. Meta Knight showing his face had managed to completely distract you from your panic attack. Slowly, you moved a hand to touch his face. He let you.

You let out a soft giggle, and a genuine smile spread on your face. Meta Knight’s own face mirrored yours, his eyes turning a pink color. The hand not holding yours moved to cup your cheek.

“Your breathing has returned to normal, my dear.”

You chuckled, your throat still a bit closed up.

“Do the lights still feel too bright?” He asked.

You nodded, though they felt more tolerable than they had been.

“Here, you can block them out with this,” he unclipped his cape and wrapped it around your shoulders. You were still too shaken to blush, so you just smiled at him instead. He paused a moment, hands still on his cloak that was wrapped around you.

On instinct, you leaned forward and planted a small kiss to his lips. You felt his smile against your lips. When you pulled back, his eyes were a deep purple color, and his face held a prominent blush of his own. You, had you been feeling one hundred percent, would be fairing no better.

“Thank you for helping me through this, Meta Knight. I’m sorry I’m so much work to take care of,” you spoke softly.

He put his mask back on, and looked to meet your eyes again.

“Nonsense, my dear. I’m always happy to keep you safe. And you have no need to apologize for things you cannot control.”

The honesty in his voice sent butterflies to your stomach. Your smile grew further.

“You said to tell you if I needed anything?”

“Yes, I did, (Y/n),” he answered.

“Can you, er, would you lie here with me?” You ask, lying back.

He hums, laying down next to you.

“Of course.”

You covered the both of you with his cape, so you were both swept under a veil of darkness.

“Let me know when you don’t feel shaky anymore, alright?”

You hum in response.

“Walking after a panic attack can help it from coming back after it’s already happened.”

“Okay, Meta Knight,” You cuddle against him, wrapping your arms around him. He does the same to you.

A moment’s silence, and you hear him whisper.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

***

On your walk later, you ask Meta Knight something you had been wondering about.

“Hey Meta Knight, why do you know so much about panic attacks, anyway?”

“It was part of basic medical training for Star Warriors,” he answers, holding your hand in his. “In battle, if a fellow warrior was having a panic attack, they would be no good for the fight. We had to learn how to get them to a safe place and calm them down. Though, in the heat of battle it was usually just the first part we focused on.”

“Have you ever had to use that training before today?” You asked.

He hesitated before he responded.

“In battle, I only used the first part of that training. After the war, I had to use what I’d learned to help someone come down from an attack.”

“Really? Who was it?” You ask, genuinely curious.

He hesitates again.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you add.

“It was me.”

His answer caught you off guard.

“You had to bring yourself down from a panic attack? Alone?”

“Yes.”

You squeeze his hand, thinking for a moment. You step in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Well, if it ever happens to you again, now I can help you calm down from one,” you flash him a bright smile. “Plus, since you guided me through mine, now I know how to help it go smoothly for you, too!”

He chuckles.

“Thank you, (Y/n), I appreciate that.”

“Of course!”

[darealbellabelleoftheball]

A Child for Christmas

This is my Contest submission for @notaghost3 ‘s 5th annual POTO Holiday One shot challenge.

It was inspired by @hop3isaprison ‘s art. And was edited by the lovely @obesessedwbeautiesandbeasts . Thank you both and I hope you all enjoy.

                                                        ~~~

Her white heels clacked a sharp staccato beat against the pavement. Her breaths coming in little shivering gasps. Though she knew he had been told not to follow her, she worried he might go against what his parents said.

Her hands held her skirts while she ran. She didn’t know where she was running to at first.

It was not like she could go back to the opera. That’s the first place he would check.

But she had not been in Paris long enough to know where to go. She needed someone to talk to...

She stopped suddenly. 

A dangerous plan had formed.

She resumed her pace, steps more sure, as the snow gently fell around her. She shivered wishing she had thought to grab a wrap before leaving the church. 

Her bare arms were freezing. If only she had thought to buy a long sleeved wedding dress!

Then again, she didn't think she’d be running from her groom when she woke up this morning.

Hell, she thought the nausea was just pre-wedding jitters. Until about two hours before the ceremony, when she lost her breakfast.

                                                      ~~~

“Christine? Are you alright?” Meg’s timid voice reached where Christine sat on the tile floor of the little bathroom.

Christine groaned, “Meg are you alone?”

“Yes.”

There was a sound as the door unlocked.Meg opened the door to a sobbing Christine, in a pool of her own white wedding gown. Christine sniffled forlornly.

“Are you okay? Did you eat something bad?” Meg asked gently.

 “No... Meg I did something bad.”

Meg closed the door and locked it, crouching down to get a better look at her friend.

“What did you do?”

“I.... I did... Erik.”

Meg blanched and slid down the wall to join her friend on the floor.

She was silent for a few moments before exclaiming, “Erik, crazy Erik? Your stalker?”

“He’s not crazy! He was just lonely.” Christine replied defensively. 

Meg nodded, slowly. 

“So you... slept with Erik?”

Christine hugged herself and sniffled loudly.

“You slept with Erik...and now you’re throwing up.Wait! Wasn’t that whole business at the opera about six weeks ago?”

Christine's bright blue eyes were full of tears, “I missed my cycle Meg.”

“You... Shit... Okay. I’ll get mum to stall without going into detail.”

Christine chuckled lightly. “Meg it’s your mother.”

“Right...”

She ripped the sleeve off Christine’s dress.

“Critical dress emergency!” Meg exclaimed before leaning forward, and kissing Christine on the forehead, “Stay here, open the door for no-one and I’ll be back with a test.”

Twenty minutes later as Christine sat in the dark, locked room crying softly. A soft knock made her jump.

“I’m back, let me in.”

Christine opened the door and pulled Meg into a hug. “Oh meg!”

Meg patted her back, and smiled, “You’re going to be fine, this might not even be what you think it is, but if it is, I support you no matter what happens, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Now, do you want me to wait outside or stay in here with you?”

“Stay, please! I need the moral support.”

Twelve minutes later the two women stared at the little device in Christine’s trembling hands.

“Dear lord.” Christine groaned, her face pale.

 “Congratulations.” Meg smiled lightly.

“Heavens above what am I going to do?!”

“Do you love him Christine?”

“Who? Raoul? Of course I love him. He’s my best friend. I mean, he has been acting off lately, but I bet that will change after we get married.” Christine smiled, but Meg could tell it was fake.

“That’s all well and good, but I was talking about Erik.”

“Erik...” Christine blushed, thinking back to their first kiss. 

“Pity, Love, How can one tell the difference?”

That haunted face flashed back into her mind, the ferocity of that man, the tenderness...

Christine took in a shuddering breath, and placed one hand on her stomach, “It’s different with him than with Raoul.”

Meg nodded in understanding.

“Raoul is safer.”

“Exactly. Less... volatile.”

It was certainly the truth. After the incident at the Opera, Raoul had withdrawn himself. There was now hardly a spark left between them. Merely a sense of duty. As Raoul had given her his word.

His parents were none too happy about that. 

“Well, I think you should tell him.” Meg spoke softly, bringing Christine out of her thoughts.

Christine nodded, “Yes. I suppose that would be the right thing to do. We’ll have to postpone the wedding.”

“If he even still wants to marry you.”

Christine blinked in shock.

Meg sucked some air in through her teeth. “Sorry that wasn’t helpful.”

                                                    ~~~

Christine shivered as she came nearer to the little brownstone townhouse.

And as she reached the familiar door, she rose to knock on it, but hesitated. 

Could she handle being twice rejected in one day?

Gathering her courage she knocked.

“One minute!” A familiar voice called.

“Yes how may I hel-” The Daroga blinked at her. “Christine?!”

“Hello Daroga.”

“You should not be here... especially not today... Not on the day of your wedding...” 

It was then that he seemed to put the pieces together. Glancing at the streaks of mascara-tears that fell down her face. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, almost afraid that his voice would carry up the stairs to the man who had locked himself in his room. 

“I- I’m pregnant,” Christine found she could not meet the man’s warm green eyes.

“Then you really should not be here...” The Daroga looked over his shoulder and up the stairs.

Christine let out a disgruntled sigh, “The child is not Raoul's.”

Nadir frowned, 

“Then who...” His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Oh I see! Come in. I’ll fetch him for you. ERIK!”

Christine Jumped.

“What do you want you great booby?!”

Nadir smiled through grit teeth, “One moment please mademoiselle.” 

He scampered up the stairs as Christine awkwardly shut the door behind her.

The warmth of the house met her chilled skin and she shivered again, not of cold. But of fright.

 If Erik reacted like Raoul...

                                                    ~~~

“Christine! I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding. It’s bad luck.” Raoul smiled tightly.

Christine took in a shuddering breath, “I’m afraid my dear that it’s too late to change our luck...”

“Is something wrong?” He frowned.

She nodded, and did not meet his eyes when she announced, “I’m pregnant.”

Raoul frowned, 

“But... We haven't...” 

He blushed,. “How... how far along are you?”

“It’s Erik’s...” She answered the question he dare not ask.

Raoul’s stance changed. He paced the room like a caged tiger. 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! How many people do you think I’ve slept with!?” She hissed.

“Well, I certainly don’t know now do I?!” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down on a couch. 

“I’ll marry you. We can pretend the child is ours. I won’t let you go through this alone. Or... Well, there is another option.”

“What?” She frowned, something in her gut telling her this would not be a pleasing answer.

“Abortion.”

“I’m not getting rid of my baby!” Christine gasped.

“You’re forgetting that it’s that monster’s baby too!” Raoul snapped. “Besides, don't look at it that way. This is our chance, to wipe the slate clean.”

“Monster?”

Raoul merely glared.

“If the child is a monster what does that make me?”

“You went to him, willingly?”

Indignation caused a flush across her skin.

“And what if I did?”

He looked her up and down in disgust.

“Alright, if that’s how you really feel, then I won’t force you to marry me.”

“Christine...”

“No, Consider me no longer your problem.” 

“I can’t do that, ” he replied, grabbing her arm hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Enough, you can’t always be my white knight Raoul. Let me go! ”

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going home.” Christine sniffled

.

“No. You are already a part of this family. You cannot leave with all the reporters here... just stay here I need to talk to Philippe. Perhaps you will see reason when I return.” He growled, storming past her.

“Raoul!” Christine shouted. 

But the door closed between them and Raoul locked her in.

“No... No. No!!!” Christine exclaimed. 

“Let me out Raoul! This isn’t funny! RAOUL!!!”

 She slapped the door with her hands and tried to knock it down with her shoulder, but only succeeded in giving herself a bruise.

Finally as her panic grew, she spotted the window. 

She threw up the sash and let the cool winter air caress her skin. As her panic died down she noticed the tree.

“No way in hell I’m sticking around here.” 

She placed a hand on her stomach, “We’re not staying where both of us aren’t wanted.”

And with that, Christine climbed down the tree and began to run.

                                                      ~~~

Erik’s eerie yellow eyes glared at the Daroga from the darkness of his room.

“What the Devil do you want Nadir?” he hissed.

“There’s a young lady here to see you.”

“What???” Erik exclaimed.

 Christine froze in terror as she heard her angel’s voice.

There was a sound of a scuffle and soon a very ragged looking Erik arrived at the top of the steps. 

“Christine?” he breathed, every inch as starstruck as when he had first met her.

“Hey Erik, ” she whispered.

Her blonde hair hung in ringlets, framing her angelic face. The white gown only made her glow further.

He was down the stairs in an instant, but caught himself from touching her.

“Is this real?”

“Yes.”

She took him in, he had barely changed, besides the fact that he was not wearing a suit. Instead he wore just a simple white dress shirt, though for some strange reason he still wore his cloak. His mask showed his thin macabre lips, and Christine blushed as a fire stirred in her stomach. 

He took in a deep breath and pulled himself up to his full height. Like a wounded animal trying to appear threatening.

He cleared his throat, eyes like storm clouds. 

“Why have you come here?” his voice thundered. 

“I’m pregnant,” she replied, in a tone more confident than she felt.

“Congratulations... So you’re here to torture me further?” he snapped. 

“I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

“Your little man must be very happy. So why are you here with me and not him, eh?” he fairly snarled.

“You know for a genius you really are intolerably stupid!” Christine replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

He growled in response.

“Erik the baby is not Raoul's.”

“What?” Erik frowned, deflating a bit.

“It’s our baby.”

Erik froze. Statuesque. 

“How.... is this possible?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you were there Erik...” Christine sassed. 

“I’m gunna go make that tea...” Nadir muttered leaving them in the parlor.

“Should we have a seat Erik?”

He nodded mutely as Christine led him to a love seat in the parlor. 

“I just found out today.” She admitted.

 Erik slowly seemed to be coming to his senses. “Are you sure, it’s not his?”

“It’s not his, you were the only one... I... Well, you know.”

“Oh...” He crossed a leg over his knee, and puffed up like a bird displaying plumage. 

“I just found out this morning, I was pretty shocked myself.”

Erik nodded again. 

Ayesha walked into the room and hissed at Christine.

 Erik shushed her, and the cat climbed up possessively onto his lap.

“Your wedding was this morning,” Erik remarked, absently stroking the cat.

“Yes, I just came from the church.”

“Well that explains the dress.” he replied.

“Raoul knows.”

That caught his attention.

“Oh? And how did that go?” he leaned closer to Christine and the air was electric around them.

“He got angry...”

A smile crept up Erik’s face.

 “He locked me in the room and went to get his brother. I climbed down a tree, and... well here I am.” 

Erik’s face fell and his hands clenched into fists.

“Bastard,” he muttered.

 “Erik...” Christine whispered.

He looked back up to her with a bright smile, “Yes?”

“I want to let you know I don't expect anything, but I’ve decided to keep the baby. I just thought you had the right to know. I’m sorry I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’re always welcome here my dear. I... uh, this is a lot to process.” Erik shook his head. 

“Of course we’re keeping the baby... why wouldn't we?”

Christine burst into tears again. Erik gathered her into his arms as she cried. Nadir walked into the room. He set his tea tray down on the coffee table.

“The de Cagney's probably don't want a scandal, did they say something to you Christine?” Nadir asked gently. 

She nodded into Erik’s chest.

 “Raoul suggested... abortion.”

“I’ll kill him.” Erik announced.

“Erik, no!” Nadir and Christine chorused. 

“I just need... Some support. I understand this is a lot, but they’re probably out searching for me now, and Meg was supposed to meet up with me...” Christine took a shaky breath. 

“If it’s support you want, you got it,” Erik nodded firmly.

“Yes, we’re here for you Christine,” Nadir acquiesced. 

Christine and Erik suddenly jolted apart as Christine’s mobile went off.

Ayesha bolted from the room.

*~Nina pretty ballerina who could ever think she could be this way?~*

“Meg?”

“I’m so glad you have your cell on you. The whole church is topsy-turvy looking for you right now. Care to fill me in?”

“I’m at Nadir’s place.”

“Oh. Oh, is Erik there?” 

“Yes. I’ll text you the address.” 

“Oh crap! Tine I have to go. I’ll be right there. I have your location.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m being followed.”

“Damn!”

“Hide!”

*~Beep~*

“What’s wrong?”

“Meg is on her way, but I think the de Chagney’s are not far behind.”

“I know what to do,” Erik announced.

                                                    ~~~

Christine, Erik, and the Daroga stared into the closet.

“Erik,” the Daroga remarked, “Is there any particular reason you have a false back to your wardrobe?”

“Now’s not the time Nadir,” Erik reprimanded.

Nadir sighed and turned to Christine, “We’ll be right back. Just sit tight.”

Erik extended his hand to help Christine into the dark wardrobe.

There was the familiar jolt of electricity between them just as Erik went to shut her in. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in for a quick kiss.

Nadir blushed as Christine made Erik swear on his music that he would not harm Raoul.

“Yes, I promise Mon Ange.” Erik blushed.

                                                     ~~~

Meanwhile, Meg pulled up to the house in her sporty white convertible. The Sleek black car pulling up behind her. 

Meg hopped out of the car and with the grace and speed granted to her by her art, was able to evade the people who followed behind her. 

She raised her hand, but before she could knock on the door was pulled inside by Nadir, quickly shutting the door behind him.

“Mademoiselle Giry,” he purred.

Meg blushed, “Monsieur Khan.”

He smiled slightly at the petite blonde, “I see you brought company.”

“Yup nothing like the de Chagney's to liven up a party.”

A predatory growl issued from the stairs, where Erik blocked the way.

“Hello Erik.” Meg squeaked.

He nodded coolly.

 Meg jumped again, still in Nadir’s arms as a pounding sounded on the door.

“Let me in! I demand to see my bride!” Raoul exclaimed.

 “You’re not in a position to demand anything right now!” Erik shouted back. 

“Erik,” said the Daroga, a man who had dealt with such things far too often for his liking.  “Go to the living room and sit the hell down.”

Nadir gestured to the living room with a meaningful glance at Meg.

Erik huffed in annoyance, knuckles clenched and white as he led Meg to the parlor.

A fake Christmas tree sat unassembled on the floor. 

“So. you and Christine, huh?” Meg asked awkwardly, sitting down in a chair near the fire. 

Erik’s ears turned red.

                                                         ~~~

Meanwhile at the door.

“Let me in!” Raoul hissed.

“Raoul, you know you can’t be here right now.”

“I know she’s here!”

“Who?” Nadir asked.

Raoul beat his fist on the door and shouted through it, “You know damn well who!”

The Daroga opened the first door leaving the screen door shut.

“Miss Daae?” he asked boredly.

“Yes!” Raoul puffed like a walrus. His mustache moving with the air expelled from his nose. “Don’t play coy. I know she’s here, why else would Meg Giry come here?”

There was a pause.

.

Nadir arched a brow at Raoul, “Mademoiselle Giry is here to see me monsieur, not that it’s any of your business.”

Meg’s pretty brown skin flushed, and despite the situation Erik had to bite back a chuckle.

“Here to see you?” Raoul frowned. 

“Well don’t look so shocked!” Nadir sounded genuinely upset.

Erik raised up a hand to cover his masked mouth. 

“What? You think that just because I’m older than you, women don’t find me attractive?!”

“That’s not what I-”

“Oh I SEE! So it’s because of my race?! You have a problem with mixed race couples? This isn’t the 1800s anymore, MONSIEUR!”

“I beg your pardon!” the Viscount exclaimed. 

Erik was doubled over in his chair now.

“But if you really need to see proof sir... Meg, darling?” Nadir called into the living-room.

“Yes!” Meg exclaimed, pulling herself together enough to play her part. 

“Come here please.”

“What is it, love?” Meg asked, walking into the parlor. 

“Meg, are you really with Nadir?”

She linked her arm with Nadir’s and frowned disapprovingly at Raoul.

“That’s certainly none of your business.“

“Well, then have you seen Christine?” Raoul asked.

“No, I haven't seen her, In fact, I came over here to talk to Nadir about it... I just...” 

At that moment the sound of a woman crying reached Erik’s ears.

“Meg are you okay?” Raoul asked.

 “Where could she be? I checked the Opera house, I checked nearly everywhere at the venue. The only place I could think of her going would be her father’s grave. Or maybe she left the country, but I don’t understand, why would she leave you at the altar?!”

At this moment Erik could bear it no longer, he had to see Raoul’s face.

 He got up and strolled to the foyer, fixing his hair and straightening his suit on the way. 

“And just what is all this fuss about?”

The fire in Raoul’s eyes nearly made him break into a smile.

“Erik,” the Viscount growled.

“Bonsoir, monsieur. How may I help you?~” Erik smirked.

“You crazy son of a-”

“Hey now!” Nadir exclaimed.

Meg scurried back into the living room as The Daroga held Raoul back. 

“Should you not be with your wife right now?” Erik growled, with a venom that shocked Raoul.

“Perhaps,” the Viscount thought, “She really wasn’t here.”

“Yes, I should. Bon Nuit,” With a cold nod, he spun on his heel and left.

Meg, Nadir and Erik, Crowded around the window as they watched the de Chagney clan drive off in defeat.

“Where is she?” Meg demanded.

                                                          ~~~

Christine was shaking when they opened the false back to let her out. 

Tears streamed down her face.

“Meg!”

“Tine!” 

The two women embraced as the Daroga morphed into mum mode.

“When is the last time any of you have eaten?”

“This morning,” the girls chorused.

Erik grunted noncommittally. 

“Alright I’ll order pizza.” Nadir replied.

The group trouped down the stairs, and as Nadir went to order, the others went into the parlor. 

Erik drew the curtains closed as the light from the sun had already faded anyways, and flicked on a light switch as the girls sat down on the couch.

Erik frowned at the tree and started to swiftly assemble it.

The girls spoke to each other softly. 

“So were you ever planning on telling me?” Meg asked, as they watched Erik’s confident movements.

 “What?” Christine asked.

“Were you planning on telling me that you and Erik got together?” Meg asked, 

Christine could tell she was a bit hurt.

“I’m sorry, Meg. Not really, I just... I was confused. I didn't know what to do. And after Raoul and I started courting, well, it didn't take long for me to find out that he was no longer the boy I fell in love with. He started being belligerent. Seeing other women. Drinking,” Christine sighed.

“Of course I’m not saying I’m faultless. But... I’ve always known what I was, and where I stood with Erik.” 

The girls  both glanced at Erik, who had wound the Christmas lights into a noose, quite subconsciously. 

“That’s one of the things I love most about you, Erik,” Christine remarked. 

His head turned, and his golden eyes snapped to hers.

“No games,” she clarified.

He nodded, “No more games.” 

He set the festive noose down on the ground and rushed out of the room and up the stairs. Taking them two at a time.

Meg frowned in confusion at Christine. Christine shrugged with a little giggle.

“He’s an odd duck...Though his friend is quite handsome...”

Christine gasped as she looked towards the kitchen where Nadir could be heard talking on the Phone. 

“Megan!” she exclaimed with a playful swat at the ballerina’s arm.

“What?!” Meg replied.

There was a rhythmic thudding, much like the sound of a heartbeat, as Erik moved down the stairs.

The girls looked up at Erik in shock, but before they could ask what he was doing, he had already knelt in front of Christine. 

“I want to do right by you and our child. I swear that I’ll never leave you. You are my home, Mon Ange . My offer from all those weeks ago still stands.” With that he pulled the ring box out of his pocket. 

“Will you consent to being my living bride?”

Christine gasped as he continued. 

“I may not be the best father, but I promise that I will strive towards that goal. I’ll never stop learning what I can to help you raise this child, and I have no doubt that with you as it’s mother, and the help of our friends this child will be fine.”

Erik opened his mouth to say more, but Christine smiled and took his trembling hands in hers 

She blinked back tears.

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Such joy Erik had never felt before. His heart nearly burst.

 Meg and Nadir clapped, as Erik slid the ring on her finger and she pulled him towards her, taking off his mask, turning him away and pulling him into a long kiss. 

The happy group finished decorating the tree, and many celebrations were had.

Christine with the help of the Daroga, got a restraining order against Raoul, who ended up being convinced by his family to give up on Christine, and married a countess to extend their fortunes. 

But what seemed like only a few short months later, a child was born. He was named Gustave, after Christine’s deceased father. As he grew so did his musical genius, much to the great joy and contentment of his father.

Erik soon took to not wearing his mask around the house. Nadir and Meg, and their children really didn’t mind. Christine and Gustave certainly didn’t.

So you see they all lived quite happily. Except of course for Raoul, Whom, Erik was very confident, got his just desserts. 

                                                     The End.

Thank you all for your time!